


Let me see you

by InterstellarBlue (nagi_schwarz)



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/InterstellarBlue
Summary: Trot idol Kim Myungjun has landed a role in the musical Everybody's Talking About Jamie, but playing a drag queen has brought him negative attention, and an anti stalker has surfaced, and with his safety under threat, his manager Park Jinwoo has called in a professional security team to protect him. Agents Dalkong, Ddana, and Rocky are on the case, but Myungjun isn't a fan of being separated from the rest of Super Five and having his food taste-tested by Rocky and Ddana having cameras everywhere.Will he stay safe? Will his stalker be caught? Will his life go back to normal?Featuring dramatic Myungjun, robotic Rocky, cute Ddana, surprisingly sweet-voiced Dalkong, concerned co-star Eunwoo, friendly manager Jinjin, and cookie cameos for the eagle-eyed readers.
Relationships: Kim Myungjun | MJ/Park Minhyuk | Rocky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: K-pop and K-drama AUs, What If? AU Challenge





	Let me see you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [czaryl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/czaryl/gifts).



> For czaryl, who spotted a cookie in a previous story ages ago, and requested some Myungky.
> 
> I finally delivered.
> 
> Finally.
> 
> Sorry it took so long.
> 
> Also for the What If AU Challenge # 27: Celebrity

Kim Myungjun had always been one to push boundaries and break barriers. He was in the first trot idol group when trot singers were usually solo artists, duos at most. He crossed over to musicals and boldly played Angel in an early run of the South Korean production of RENT, where he traded in his mournful vocals and really let his sparkling, energetic, flamboyant personality shine as a trans woman in love with a man before she died of AIDs. Amid criticism from his mostly older and more conservative trot fans, he continued on with musicals and won the role of Jamie in a newer, less popular musical about a teenage boy who wanted to be a drag queen.

Because Cha Eunwoo, the nation’s darling, was making his musical debut and taking his first role as a villain playing Dean, Jamie’s classmate who bullied Jamie (and ended up kissing him), Myungjun had garnered a lot more attention with this role outside the regular trot and musical community — and a lot more hate.

But that was to be expected. It meant what he was doing was making a difference, was making people sit up and take notice, was challenging people’s core beliefs and making them have visceral reactions and _think._

So when the hate mail and threats started rolling in, he didn’t care. He strapped on his heels, he held his head high, and he strutted across that stage.

One morning he woke to the sound of his team’s housekeeper screaming. He and two of his teammates scrambled out of their beds, still in their pajamas, and stumbled toward the sound of her voice.

She was at the front door, which was ajar.

Someone had pinned a note to the front door with a massive knife. The note was dripping with blood.

Old Mrs. Nam had surprised a figure in a dark hoodie and jeans, and they’d run without her getting a look at their face. CCTV in Myungjun’s apartment building hadn’t caught the person’s face either. Myungjun had let Mrs. Nam cling to him while one teammate called the police, another their manager. 

Since his trot group wasn’t particularly popular or wealthy — they were more of a novelty than anything — they didn’t live in a fancy apartment building with particularly impressive security, and the middle-aged, portly security guard was very apologetic about the incident.

The note, threatening Myungjun’s life if he didn’t stop his immoral and indecent behavior of dressing as a girl and kissing men (and seducing the likes of the sweet and honorable Cha Eunwoo), had been printed out at a generic printer at a generic PC-bang. The knife was a kitchen knife that could have been purchased at any supermarket. The blood was pig’s blood that could have been acquired at any old butcher shop.

Jinwoo, Myungjun’s manager and best friend, listened to the detectives’ report with a grim expression.

Myungjun’s teammates, who’d already endured a lot of grief over Myungjun’s last foray into musical theater, didn’t resist when Jinwoo suggested that Myungjun stay in a separate dorm until the musical’s run was over — and police got to the bottom of the threats.

“Also,” Jinwoo said, “you’re going to have to take the threats more seriously.”

Where Myungjun’s teammates had been allowed to stumble back to bed, Myungjun had been ordered to shower and dress and come to the company to meet with upper management.

Myungjun, despite being five years a veteran in the entertainment industry, felt like an unruly child called to the principal’s office whenever he sat at the conference table like this, with upper management arrayed opposite him.

“My team’s maknae had to call the police today,” Myungjun said. “Obviously I took today’s threat more seriously.”

“I mean all of the threats,” Jinwoo said. “The ones mailed to you. The ones sent to your dressing room. The ones over your social media accounts.”

Myungjun made a face. “You know about those.” 

“We know about all of those.” Jinwoo fixed him with a pointed stare.

Myungjun had made a point to try to delete the ones from social media before Jinwoo or his teammates saw those.

“To that end, we’re assigning you with private security,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun straightened up. Those two tall, broad-shouldered men he’d seen when he’d entered the conference room, the ones in the dark suits. They were both so handsome he’d thought maybe they were interns or perhaps new trainees or recruits. One of them was baby-faced and round-featured, but the other looked like he’d stepped out of a romance comic. 

“Them?”

They flanked either side of the doorway and were, in fact, wearing fancy earpieces like government agents.

“And me,” the slender man handing Myungjun a cup of coffee said.

Myungjun blinked, startled.

The man at his elbow wore slacks and a button-down shirt and an employee badge on a lanyard around his neck and looked hardly like a private bodyguard at all, just like another office intern or employee.

But he sipped Myungjun’s coffee before setting it down.

“What the —?” Myungjun, who’d gone to reach for the coffee, recoiled.

“To ensure it’s not poisoned,” the man said before he straightened up and slid just out of Myungjun’s sight behind his left shoulder.

Myungjun twisted around to gape at him.

He was dressed painfully stylishly, exactly as expected from someone who worked at an entertainment company. He was handsome in a severe, serious sort of way — heavy brow, mouth pressed into a thin line, endlessly dark eyes.

Myungjun turned to look at Jinwoo. “I need someone to taste-test my food? I’m not Sejong the Great.”

“Hyung, someone made it to your front door with a knife. Who knows how far they’d have made it if Mrs. Nam hadn’t scared them off,” Jinwoo said. “Agents Ddana, Dalkong, and Rocky will ensure your safety at all times.”

Myungjun mouthed the codenames under his breath, disbelieving.

Ddana was the tallest one, the baby-faced one. He broke into a brief smile when he was introduced, and he looked unbearably sweet — and like he couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone take a bullet or poison for Myungjun. Dalkong, the other tall one, just nodded politely. Rocky — what the hell kind of codename was Rocky? — nodded curtly and resumed ignoring Myungjun and scanning the little conference room like bullets and knives could come flying at him at any moment.

“When you say at all times,” Myungjun said.

Dalkong spoke. “Rocky will have the day shift. I’ll have the night shift. Ddana runs digital surveillance.” 

His voice was a surprisingly light tenor for how broad and muscular he was; Myungjun would have thought he’d have a deep voice like Jinwoo. For all that Jinwoo was a bit shorter than Myungjun, he was broader and stockier and more muscular.

Myungjun knew he was slender and delicate; he looked great in drag as a result.

“Digital surveillance,” Myungjun echoed.

“Yes, Myungjun-ssi,” Ddana said. “Monitoring threats to social media as well as maintaining CCTV on your new dorm and digital security when you’re out in public.”

Myungjun snorted. “Are you going to lojack me?”

“You will be fitted with a tracker in case you’re kidnapped,” Ddana said, and he beamed, and wow, he was barely out of high school. 

How was anyone taking him seriously?

Except Jinwoo and all of upper management just looked grim.

Jinwoo said, “Dalkong and his team are ex-special forces. They’re the best protection money can buy.”

Myungjun re-assessed Ddana’s age up a few years. “I’m not Cha Eunwoo.”

“Your safety is important to us,” Jinwoo said. He added, “It should be important to you too.”

Myungjun lifted his chin. “I’m not afraid.”

“Having security doesn’t mean you’re afraid. It means you can keep on performing and showing the world what you’re made of,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun peered up at Rocky. “Do you have to taste-test _everything_ before I get to eat it?”

“Anything you cook for yourself or that one of us cooks for you requires no testing,” he said promptly.

He was like a robot.

Myungjun resisted the urge to ask where his on switch was, if he needed to plug in and recharge at the end of the day; did he take a lightning cable or micro USB?

“You should head to the theater,” Jinwoo said. “Curtain’s up in a few hours. Your team needs to know the lay of the land.”

“Already have blueprints and access to all the CCTV there,” Ddana said, waggling his cellphone.

Jinwoo raised his eyebrows.

Ddana smiled sweetly.

“We’ll need to check the blind spots,” Rocky said.

“Yeah, but since no one keeps their cellphones in Faraday bags I’ve seen most of those as well,” Ddana said, tucking his phone away.

Dalkong sighed.

“We’ll need to check the blind spots,” Rocky said again.

Ddana smiled more sweetly. “Yes, hyung.”

Jinwoo excused Myungjun and his new very fancy security team. Instead of heading to the parking garage to take a company van, they stopped in one of the small practice rooms.

Where Ddana and Dalkong proceeded to strip out of their suits.

“The hell?” Myungjun asked, but — damn.

Beneath those suits, both men were ripped.

“Can’t look like bodyguards, can we?” Dalkong asked. 

He pulled on skinny jeans and a gray knit cable sweater and an employee lanyard with the name _Dal Kong_ on it. He shed his fancy earpiece and put in some kind of tiny earpiece that Myungjun couldn’t even see. He looked like a young, trendy PA.

If PAs had guns in the small of their backs and on their ankles and knives on their other ankles and their wrists. 

Ddana, by contrast, wore a tan turtleneck and a pair of classy slacks and had a tablet PC tucked under one arm. He looked more like a business manager.

The only thing Rocky did to change his appearance was put on a pair of heavy-framed glasses so he looked...just as severe but slightly bookish.

Dalkong helped Ddana fix the collar of his turtleneck, and Ddana smoothed down Dalkong’s hair, and then the three of them herded Myungjun out of the practice room and down to the parking lot.

Dalkong drove and Ddana rode shotgun, giving him directions off his phone while Rocky sat beside Myungjun, alert, checking out the windows, saying nothing.

“So...Rocky,” Myungjun said. “Like the boxer?”

“I’m not here to make conversation. I’m here to protect you. If I’m distracted, you could die.”

Myungjun opened his mouth to say that no one was trying to kill him, then shut it, because he wasn’t sure that was true anymore.

At the theater, Dalkong stayed with the van. Ddana took up post inside the theater in the foyer, pretending to sip at a smoothie and doing something possibly illegal with the theater’s free guest wifi. Only Rocky stayed close to Myungjun, following him backstage and acting as his PA, though he never left Myungjun’s side.

Where Myungjun rotated the lead role of Jamie with three other actors, he shared a dressing room with them. Rocky went into the dressing room first, checking it for threats, while Myungjun stood in the doorway, skeptical that anything dangerous could be under the chair or under the vanity table or behind the mirror or in the little bathroom or closet or —

“What’s —?”

Rocky held up one finger in the universal gesture for silence.

In his other hand he held three small black circular devices. He took pictures of them with his phone, turned them over, took more pictures of them, took a video recording of them, then reached into his pocket for some kind of bag made of slippery gray fabric and put them inside, sealed it shut.

As soon as that was done, he tucked the bag into his pocket and tapped at his earpiece.

“Ddana, I found two bugs and a micro camera. I tagged the locations. I put them in the Faraday bag. I’ll send the pictures over now. Trace them if you can. Chances are whoever was monitoring them has seen my face. Even if he can’t ID me, he knows what I look like now. Send hyung to pick them up.”

So Dalkong was the oldest. Good to know. 

Myungjun swallowed hard. “There was a camera in my dressing room? For how long?”

“Don’t know right now. Ddana might be able to learn more.”

So this was serious. How the hell was Myungjun supposed to get his head in the game tonight for a performance? His company had kept the threat out of the news. His cast mates didn’t know.

They stopped by to say hello, as did other friends and acquaintances from the industry, like singers and actors and entertainers who he’d trained with before he’d debuted. Rocky hung back and watched, wary, as Myungjun interacted with them. He was performing even before the curtain had risen. 

Rocky was performing, too, holding Myungjun’s phone when he asked, taking pictures for Myungjun and his friends who’d come to cheer him on.

The first time Rocky smiled when the actress who played Myungjun’s mother came to say hello and check on him, Myungjun was shocked, because his entire face transformed. His face lit up and he had dimples and he went from robotically serious to adorable and shy, and he bowed and apologized for being awkward; he was new from the company to help Myungjun while he was in the musical so Jinwoo-sunbae had more time to help the rest of the trot team.

When the older actor who played the old drag queen pinched Rocky’s cheek and said he was adorable, Myungjun thought Rocky was going to go all badass secret agent on him and shank him, but Rocky just blushed and stammered, and everyone watching laughed.

And as soon as everyone else was gone, Rocky was back to being a robot, checking the room for threats, for bugs people could have planted when they came in (no one left more bugs, but someone did leave behind a tube of lipstick and was very grateful when Rocky found it).

Curtain call finally arrived.

Myungjun stared at himself in the mirror. He could do this. He could get out on stage and give it his all. Some creep with a kitchen knife and pig’s blood had tried to scare him off.

To hell with that guy.

Myungjun would show him.

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and headed for the wings, Rocky on his heels.

_Everybody’s talking about Myungjun._

* * *

Myungjun was high on adrenaline and exhilaration and a grand sense of _fuck you, anonymous threatening guy_ when the curtain fell on the encore, and he sashyed off the stage in his red killer heels, waggling the pompoms on his costume and feeling like a million bucks — and almost walked straight into the human stone wall that was Rocky.

Who caught his arm and grinned and told him he did an amazing job and he was so talented and sounded excited and giddy and also frogmarched him all the way back to his dressing room, bypassing his castmates and some fans who’d made it backstage.

“Change,” Rocky said, as soon as the door was shut. “No cast party tonight. You’re tired. We’ll take you home.”

“You know, your mood swings could really give a guy whiplash,” Myungjun said, taking off his heels and placing them carefully in their prop box so they’d be ready for the next performance.

“Not mood swings,” Rocky said, standing at the door, alert. “Hurry.”

“This makeup doesn’t come off easily,” Myungjun protested, plopping down at the vanity table and frowning at himself in the mirror.

Rocky crossed the room and plucked the packet of makeup wipes from Myungjun’s hands. Myungjun opened his mouth to protest, because the last thing he wanted was some ham-handed ex-government agent sandpapering off the outermost layer of his delicate skin with expensive makeup wipes, but Rocky was surprisingly gentle and efficient as he cleared the makeup off of Myungjun’s skin with broad, even strokes.

He managed to do the delicate spaces around Myungjun’s eyes before he paused and said, “I’ll let you handle your lips yourself.”

He stepped back and resumed his post at the door, murmured softly to his teammates.

Myungjun, his heart thumping oddly — still high on adrenaline from the encore, probably — finished wiping off the lipstick and eyeshadow and eyeliner, and then he changed out of his costume and put it in the laundry hamper.

“Ready?” Rocky asked.

Myungjun nodded.

Rocky pulled open the door. He explained, calmly but kindly, that Myungjun was tired and only had time to give out five autographs and pose for five photos, and then he had to head home. He stayed close to Myungjun the entire time, one hand on the small of his back. 

Before Myungjun knew what was what, he was being bundled through a series of service corridors to the parking garage and into the waiting van, and Ddana and Dalkong were arguing about what to listen to on the radio on the way home.

Which was not the way home Myungjun was used to.

“My dorm is that way,” he said, sitting up straighter and pointing to where Dalkong should have turned.

“You’re in your own dorm for the duration of the musical, remember,” Dalkong said.

Myungjun twisted around and peered out the window at the apartment building. “I thought I’d just be in a different apartment, not —”

An entirely separate building, the same distance from the company but in a different neighborhood. The apartment building didn’t look any more expensive or cheap than the one Myungjun usually lived in. Dalkong parked in the underground lot, and the three men herded Myungjun to the elevator. Rocky exited first, and then he and Ddana guarded Myungjun at the door while Dalkong did a sweep of the little apartment himself. Ddana looked like he was scrolling through social media, but it wasn’t idle scrolling.

“Are you looking through my Twitter account?” Myungjun demanded.

“I’ve deleted four-hundred and twenty-eight threats today,” Ddana said absently. “You get fewer on Instagram and Weibo. Hardly anyone uses Facebook. A lot of your fans try to tackle them, but it gets ugly for them, so. I’ve written an algorithm to tackle YouTube. I’ve encouraged your fans to block and report as well to ease the burden a bit.”

“Encouraged my fans?”

Ddana smiled and turned his phone around. “I’m Ducky777!”

He’d made a fan account with an avatar that was a picture of Myungjun making one of his signature duck faces.

Myungjun turned to Rocky, but he wasn’t paying attention, was scanning the hallway.

Dalkong declared the apartment clear, and Myungjun was allowed inside.

“We transferred over your clothes and toiletries and everything from your bedroom at your old dorm,” Dalkong said.

Myungjun paused at the threshold of the apartment and saw his house slippers there beside his three other pairs of shoes.

Dalkong added, apologetically, “We didn’t know which DVDs and video games were yours so we left those alone, since this is a temporary arrangement. We also purchased some basic groceries. If you’re too tired to cook, you can order food, or one of us can cook for you.”

The enormity of Myungjun’s situation hit him.

Someone had put a knife and pig’s blood on his front door and threatened his life. He’d been isolated from his teammates. He needed not one but _three_ bodyguards. And he’d just sung and danced like his life depended on it.

He sank down and untied his sneakers.

“Whatever you three want. You need to eat. I’m not hungry.”

“Rocky-ah, cook,” Dalkong said. “Ddana-ya, secure the digital perimeter. I’ll make up the beds.”

The younger two nodded and moved into the apartment, sliding into slippers and navigating confidently, like they owned the place.

Ddana looked like he was pretending to decorate, placing tiny gadgets all over the apartment. Cameras? Microphones? Both? What had he learned from the ones he’d found in Myungjun’s dressing room? Would Ddana be watching everything Myungjun did?

Ddana put a tablet on the coffee table in the middle of the den. The screen was split into multiple sections showing the CCTV feed from the building. But also from...other places. The theater. The company. Myungjun’s usual dorm building. 

There was a couch, a couple of armchairs, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was one bedroom and one bathroom. 

Rocky went into the kitchen, pulled on an apron, rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and opened the refrigerator. Did he even know how to cook? Myungjun hadn’t done his service yet — he had two years still — but he’d heard military food was awful. Special forces guys probably learned how to live on bugs or something. 

But soon several pans were simmering and hissing on the stove, and the kitchen smelled wonderful. Rocky brought Myungjun a warm mug of tea. 

“Chamomile, to help you sleep,” he said, and returned to the kitchen to keep stirring the fried rice. 

Dalkong — their code names were so silly; Myungjun would give them better names of his own — set up two pallets on the floor, one near the front door, one near the bedroom door. Then he sat down on the couch with a massive box and began sorting its contents with gloved hands.

Myungjun’s fanmail.

Soon he had three piles on the coffee table, precariously close to Ddana’s precious tablet: boxes, packages, and letters. He sorted through the letters first, opening them not with a letter opener but with a knife he flicked open with practiced ease and that parted paper with frightening speed. He scanned each letter. Most he refolded and put back into the envelopes. Some he set into a different pile. Myungjun sipped at his tea and itched to tear the letters away from him. Those were from his fans. A lot of them were from vulnerable queer youths who saw Myungjun as a symbol of hope and inspiration. They didn’t need some musclebound, violent gym-bro like Dalkong reading their honesty and sincerity.

Before Myungjun could ask to see what Dalkong was looking for, Rocky said,

“Ddana-ya, set the table.”

Ddana nodded and set aside his laptop — where had he even been keeping a laptop? — and jumped to his feet, rifled through the cupboards and set the table for one.

He laid out dishes for three more people at the kitchen counter.

Myungjun stared at the single setting and thought of eating by himself, something he’d often relished on his rare days off without teammates or managers or friends or family, and felt dread curl in the pit of his stomach.

He shook his head.

“No. Eat with me. Talk to me about what’s going on. I’m an adult. I deserve to know what’s going on with my life and my safety.”

Ddana and Rocky looked at Dalkong, who nodded, so Ddana shifted two more place settings to the table.

“I said eat with me.” Myungjun stared at Dalkong.

“Rocky-ah is still on duty while you’re awake,” Dalkong said. He rose and stood at the dining table.

Ddana joined him.

Neither of them sat till Myungjun took his seat.

Rocky served them all, Myungjun first, and it felt like something out of a chaebol drama. As soon as everyone was served, Rocky retreated to the kitchen counter and served himself, ate standing up, gaze alert, seemingly only half paying attention to his food.

“How was the security at the theater?” Myungjun asked.

“Abysmal,” Ddana said. “I mean, the digital security was something a toddler could have broken into, given how easily I walked in, so I shored it up after I put in all my eyes and ears.”

“Did you get anything from those bugs Rocky-ssi found in my dressing room?” Myungjun asked. He glanced at Dalkong, who was obviously the team leader, surprised that Ddana was talking so freely.

“As soon as hyung found the devices, whoever was using them cut and run. They were cheap, so whoever was using them was receiving telemetry from nearby,” Ddana said. “Probably in a mobile unit, like a van or truck. Easy to make a quick getaway. Components were easy to order off the internet, the cheap stuff boys use to spy on the girls’ locker rooms in high school or whatever.”

“That’s disgusting,” Myungjun said.

Ddana nodded his agreement and slurped up his glass noodles eagerly.

Myungjun turned to Dalkong, and then he paused. “Wow. This is — this is really delicious.” He twisted around in his seat to look at Rocky, but Rocky was clearly focused on everything but Myungjun.

“Rocky-ah’s always been a good cook. We’re glad to have him on our team,” Dalkong said, and he smiled fondly, and wow. He was incredibly handsome.

It was like something out of a drama, three celebrity-handsome men as bodyguards for one Myungjun, a C-list star. The person stalking him would turn out to be not a crazed anti or deranged fan in love with him but a jealous hoobae or sunbae at his company. Maybe one of his own teammates.

Myungjun blinked and shook himself out. 

He cleared his throat. “Did you find anything interesting in my fan mail?”

Dalkong said, “I was sorting the minor threats from the credible threats, the direct threats from the indirect ones. Ddana did the same with the digital threats.”

“I also wrote an algorithm to look for linguistic patterns. Some stalkers use multiple accounts to make it seem like there are more of them than there are,” Ddana said. “Once hyung has compiled all the snail-mail threats I’ll scan them and run those through the algorithm too.”

Dalkong said, gently, “You have some really sweet and dedicated fans. Your work means a lot to them. We’ll do our best to protect you.”

Myungjun looked at him. He seemed warm and sincere. He was so handsome. If this were a drama and Myungjun were some kind of starlet, the main romance OST song would start to play, right? But he couldn’t help but glance over at Rocky, who was feeding himself almost robotically, seemingly barely tasting the delicious meal he’d made with his own hands.

“We don’t know a lot right now. The more we know, the better we can protect you,” Dalkong said, “but we’re experienced at protection, and there will be at least two of us for you at all times, so.”

“Does Ddana ever sleep?” Myungjun frowned.

Ddana winked. “Never. Sleep is for the weak — and the dead.”

Maybe Ddana was the one who was the robot. All that digital savvy was unnatural.

“He does sleep. His schedule is staggered from mine and Rocky’s,” Dalkong said. “Tomorrow the company will release a statement about the threats against you, that you’ve moved to a dorm separate from your teammates for their safety but will continue with your regular schedule and planned performances.”

“Will I need to tell the play’s producers and staff about cooperating with police and you?” Myungjun asked.

Dalkong shook his head. “Not till we eliminate all of them from the suspect pool. The stalker already knows about Rocky, so we’ll leave him the visible one, and that gives me and Ddana more leeway to operate. If we stress out your stalker too much, if they’re psychotic they could decompensate — and accelerate their schedule against you. We want to avoid that, so — a little at a time. We control the narrative, all right?”

Myungjun nodded.

Dalkong smiled again, gently and reassuringly, and Ddana grinned, goofy and childlike, and Myungjun felt himself relax.

There was a scrape of cutlery on dishes and Myungjun saw Rocky chasing the last grains of rice out of his bowl with a spoon. Then he stacked up all his dishes and spoons and chopsticks and deposited them in the sink.

“Ddana, dishes,” he said.

Ddana pouted and looked at Dalkong, who raised his eyebrows, and then he nodded.

Dalkong said to Rocky, “Wash up, then sleep. Myungjun-ssi’s day starts early tomorrow.”

Rocky nodded and headed for the bathroom.

Ten seconds later, Myungjun heard the shower start. He considered asking Dalkong and Ddana more about themselves, but given that they hadn’t even told him their real names, he doubted they’d tell him anything useful, so he concentrated on his food.

Ddana was engrossed in something on his phone — more security footage — and Dalkong had taken up Rocky’s post in the kitchen, standing, calm but alert.

Fifteen minutes later, Rocky emerged from the bathroom, clean, hair damp, wearing sweats and a t-shirt.

He bowed to his teammates, bowed to Myungjun, lay down on his bedroll next to the bedroom door, and was out like a light.

“Shouldn’t someone plug him in first?” Myungjun muttered, staring.

“Pardon?” Ddana asked.

“Nothing,” Myungjun said quickly.

He finished his meal, scraped off his dishes, rinsed them, and headed to wash up for bed himself.

All his toiletries were in the bathroom, laid out exactly as they had been in his bathroom back in the other dorm.

When he peeked under the sink, there were three little black zippered dopp kits, identical, presumably belonging to his bodyguards. How they told them apart, he had no clue.

Myungjun brushed his teeth, did his nightly skin care, and headed for the kitchen for one last glass of water. Ddana was pacing the perimeter of the den while Dalkong sorted through more fanmail.

Rocky looked like he hadn’t moved an iota and seemed totally undisturbed by the fact that the lights were on.

“Bin-hyung,” Ddana said quietly, pausing beside the couch.

Dalkong — _Bin,_ Myungjun thought victoriously — glanced up. “Hm?”

“You really think there’s two?”

Bin nodded. “The patterns are clear, but put them through your algorithm to make sure.”

“What are the odds?”

“You’d know better than me.”

“Think hyung will be all right?” Ddana glanced at the sleeping Rocky.

Bin smiled just as sincerely for his teammates as he did for Myungjun. “He’s the best of the best. It’ll be fine.”

Ddana nodded and resumed patrolling.

Myungjun’s bodyguards weren’t very professional if they dropped protocol within his earshot. He finished his glass of water and set the glass in the drying rack, then headed for his bedroom.

“Good night, Myungjun-ssi,” Bin said, catching his eye, his gaze knowing.

Maybe they were too professional, Myungjun thought, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Whoever had moved all his possessions — someone else from the bodyguard agency, if these three had been with him all day? — had even taken his bedspread and sheets and pillowcases and throw pillows.

Myungjun went to set his glasses on the nightstand, and he paused, peeked in the nightstand drawer.

Oh hell. His diary was in there.

Someone — some _stranger_ had gone through his room and touched all of his things and had looked at them closely enough that they’d been able to replicate their placement and how he folded his socks and t-shirts in his drawers in this new place and —

Where were the cameras Ddana had put up? Would Ddana be watching him sleep? Would someone come bursting into the bedroom if Myungjun had a nightmare — or some other loud dream?

He crawled into bed and turned off the bedside lamp and yanked the covers over his head.

His life had just been turned upside down.

What the _hell._

He squeezed his eyes shut and wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

Instead he grabbed his pillow and kicked his blanket.

All he wanted to do was sing and dance and entertain people and make them happy and give queer kids hope, the kind of hope he’d never had as a kid. Was that so wrong? And now some psycho — possibly _two_ psychos — wanted him dead, and all that stood between him and death by psycho was a baby-faced computer fiend, a model-handsome gym-bro, and a guy who was possibly a robot.

When the air beneath covers got stifling, Myungjun poked his head up for fresh air and sighed.

This was his life now.

Jinwoo was right. He had to stay safe so he could keep doing what he was doing. He’d perform with his team at festivals during the day and do the musical in the evenings, and he wouldn’t be scared one bit.

He fell asleep to the sound of someone’s gentle tenor humming, one of the songs from his musical.

_And you don’t even know it…_

* * *

When Myungjun opened his eyes, the ceiling was unfamiliar, and the way the sunlight played across the walls was all wrong, and everything was all wrong.

He sighed.

And then he listened. The rest of the apartment was silent.

Myungjun reached out and scooped up his phone to check his schedule and for any messages. There were none from his family — no surprise; none of them had wanted him to pursue a career as an idol and they were even less supportive of his musical theater endeavors — but there were none from his teammates either.

The message from Jinwoo included a draft of the company’s official statement about the stalker attack on the dorm and Myungjun moving for his teammates’ safety and also a confirmation of the day’s schedule.

Jinwoo added, _Let me know if you’re stressed out and I’ll schedule you a day at the spa. Listen to your bodyguards._

“At least someone cares,” Myungjun murmured to himself. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Then he heaved himself out of bed and stretched — and stepped out of his room.

And nearly tripped over a bed pallet with a sleeping Bin on it, which was right in front of the door.

In sleep, with mussed hair, Bin looked young and innocent, sweet. Myungjun scanned the apartment. Rocky was in the kitchen cooking once again. Ddana was nowhere to be seen, his sleeping pallet bundled up and out of the way. His tablet and laptop were gone too.

“Good morning, Myungjun-ssi,” Rocky said, bowing politely. 

Myungjun plunked himself down at the dining table. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Jinwoo-ssi sent over some menu suggestions. I made you a fruit smoothie, scrambled eggs, bacon, and wheat toast.” Rocky set several plates in front of him.

Today he was dressed like a terribly stylish PA all over again, this time in skinny jeans and a soft blue cardigan. Was he armed like Bin and Ddana had been the day before — guns and knives and more? Myungjun looked him up and down and realized he could almost see the slide of Rocky’s thigh muscles as he walked around the kitchen.

He looked away quickly, because staring was rude. 

“Eat well,” Rocky said politely and bowed before he started washing the dishes.

“Thank you, I’ll eat lots,” Myungjun said. The fruit smoothie was sweet and refreshing, and he drank it down happily. “Have you already had breakfast?”

Rocky nodded. “Yes, Myungjun-ssi.” He worked quickly and efficiently.

If Bin was asleep and Rocky was doing dishes, who was watching over Myungjun while he ate? Not that Myungjun hadn’t thought someone literally standing guard over him while he ate hadn’t been overkill even if someone had pinned a blood-covered note to his front door with a kitchen knife yesterday morning.

“This is very delicious. Thank you. Will you be cooking for me all the time?” Myungjun watched Rocky scrub the dishes with calm efficiency.

Myungjun was by far the tidiest of his teammates because he liked living in a tidy space, but he didn’t like cleaning. Rocky seemed like someone who liked cleaning. Maybe he was part Roomba.

“Only if Myungjun-ssi doesn’t want to cook for himself or order food or eat at a restaurant,” Rocky said.

Myungjun eyed Rocky some more. Where would his charge port be — behind his ear? His belly button? His hip? Not — not like in that one manga, with the computers shaped like humans. Some of them had had weird ears that marked them as non-humans where their charge ports and USB ports were, but the ones that were indistinguishable from humans, their on switches had been between —

Myungjun looked away from Rocky’s lean, jean-clad thighs. “So today will it just be you and me?”

“Ddana is our eyes in the sky,” Rocky said, “but I will be with you personally for your schedule today.”

He rattled off Myungjun’s schedule, and yeah, he was definitely a robot.

Myungjun couldn’t help but glance upward. Eyes in the sky? Was Ddana watching them right now? Was what why Rocky felt comfortable cleaning the kitchen instead of looming over Myungjun while he ate?

...Would Ddana be able to see Myungjun in the shower?

Not that they weren’t all men, but…

Myungjun finished his meal and thanked Rocky, who bobbed his head and scooped up the dishes to wash them and put them away.

Myungjun went to shower up for the day.

“Is there a camera in the bathroom?” he asked, pausing at the bedroom door.

“It’s not pointed at the shower or toilet,” Rocky said.

“So...yes,” Myungjun said.

Rocky nodded.

Myungjun grabbed clean clothes, showered, wrapped a towel around himself, grabbed his clean clothes, and dried off and dressed behind the shower curtain before he emerged to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He did a quick job of it, just enough to be professionally presentable, because he’d be made up further before he took the stage with his teammates at today’s festival. It was out in the countryside, a nice summer festival for whatever the local popular produce was. Most of the audience would be elderly people, farmers, out for a good time and good music and not much else. Myungjun had enjoyed watching trot performances at similar festivals when he was a child, and he wanted the next generation of trot fans to have fond memories of him.

“Ready to go?” Myungjun asked.

Rocky was waiting beside the kitchen counter. He’d donned his thick-rimmed glasses and had a tablet computer and looked adorably bookish and also completely non-threatening. “Yes, Myungjun-ssi.”

“Will you sit next to me in the van on the way to the festival?”

“I’ll drive you myself,” Rocky said.

Myungjun paused halfway into his shoes. “I won’t be riding with my teammates?”

“The stalker knows where you used to live and what the company van looks like,” Rocky said. “They don’t know what our cars look like. Also a car is easier to maneuver if I have to do any aggressive or evasive driving.”

“Oh.” Myungjun finished putting on his shoes. “Well...can I pick the radio station?”

Rocky seemed like the kind of person who insisted on driving in silence, but he said, “Of course, Myungjun-ssi. However, Jinwoo-ssi suggested that on the way there you call your teammates and discuss the set list for today’s performance.”

“Right.”

Rocky opened the door and checked the hallway before he let Myungjun step out of the apartment, and then in the elevator he stood between Myungjun and the doors, and once again he exited the elevator first, and he checked the parking garage before he let Myungjun out, and he did some kind of sweep of the car with a mirror on a stick — where had he even kept that? — before he unlocked the car and let Myungjun in.

“Ddana-ya, navigate for me,” Rocky said, to thin air, and Myungjun realized he must have been wearing one of those nearly-invisible earpieces.

Rocky ducked his chin, listened, and then guided the car — not one Myungjun had seen before, a nondescript, older-model dark sedan — out of the parking lot and into traffic. 

Myungjun fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Jinwoo, let him know he and Rocky were on the way to the festival; would now be a good time to call his teammates and discuss the set list?

 _Call Hoetaek,_ Jinwoo texted back, so Myungjun did.

“Myungjun-ah, how are you?” Hoetaek asked. He wasn’t the oldest but he was the team leader.

“I’m all right,” he said. “Are you all right? Everything okay there?”

“No knives and pig’s blood, if that’s what you mean,” Jinook, the maknae, piped up.

So Myungjun was on speaker.

“Well, that’s why I moved out, so. What are we singing today?” Myungjun knew the constant hate being sent his way affected his teammates, and he didn’t want to linger on it any more than necessary.

“Two group numbers, two duets, and Hyungseok doing a solo,” Hoetaek said.

“Who are the duets?” Myungjun asked.

Hoetaek listed off the song options and duet options, and Myungjun and his teammates settled into comfortable banter as they bandied ideas back and forth — who would pair with whom, what should they sing, what group numbers should they do, did Hyungseok really want to sing by himself? 

Rocky was, by all appearances, totally ignoring Myungjun’s conversation, focused on driving and possibly whatever Ddana was telling him. For all Myungjun knew, Ddana was telling an epic tale or doing a stand-up comedy routine while also providing directions to the festival.

Not that Rocky was laughing.

Did he even know how to laugh?

But then Myungjun thought of Rocky’s sweet, dimpled smile last night, how shy he’d been around the ebullient thespians who’d come to greet Myungjun.

By the time Myungjun and his teammates had finalized their set-list and had some comfortable banter — without Myungjun around to be the clean one, Hyeokjin and Hyungseok’s post-military tendencies were overrunning the dorm and Jinook’s rule as maknae-on-top was under threat; Hoetaek joked that the dorm was quieter and more peaceful without him — they were halfway to the festival venue.

“How is it, Mister Bodyguard?” Hoetaek asked. “Is Myungjun terribly loud and annoying for you too?”

“Oh, he won’t answer anything personal like that. He’s too professional for that,” Myungjun said.

“You mean you won’t let him,” Jinook said gleefully. “Tell us, Mister Bodyguard!”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not even paying attention to us. He has to concentrate on driving,” Myungjun said. He cast Rocky a sidelong glance.

Rocky was gazing straight ahead at the road, his hands perfectly at ten and two on the steering wheel.

Rocky said, “Myungjun-ssi is quiet and obedient, as necessary to maintain his safety.”

Hyeokjin scoffed. “He paid you to say that.”

“Myungjun-ssi does not pay us directly,” Rocky said.

“Wow, you sound like a robot,” Jinook said.

“Yah,” Myungjun hissed, embarrassed on his teammate’s behalf even though he’d thought the same thing. “Ignore the maknae. He’s rude.”

Rocky said, thoughtfully, “Myungjun-ssi appreciates my cooking.”

“You cook for him?” Hyungseok asked.

“To ensure his food isn’t poisoned.”

 _“Heol,”_ Hoetaek said. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Rocky said calmly. “Apologies. I must focus on driving now.”

“I told you,” Myungjun said. “Leave him alone. He’s working right now. I’ll see you there, all right?”

“Yeah. Warm up your voice, practice your harmonies,” Hoetaek said.

“Be safe,” Jinook added in a small voice.

“Will do,” Myungjun added. He sang out, louder, “I love you, Jinjin!”

He heard Jinwoo laugh in the background, and the call ended.

“Sorry about my teammates,” Myungjun said.

Rocky said, “I also have teammates.”

Myungjun peered at him. What were Ddana and Bin like, when they weren’t on duty? Did they make fun of each other too? Did Rocky laugh with them?

“Well, now that we’ve picked songs, I’d better rehearse. So — don’t mind me.”

Rocky nodded and seemed to be barely paying attention to Myungjun once again.

For some reason, Myungjun was disappointed and a little hurt. For a moment there, Rocky had seemed almost — human. Like maybe he liked Myungjun. But Myungjun was just a client, like a computer program that Robot Rocky was supposed to run and nothing more.

Myungjun sighed, sat up straighter, and started doing his vocal warmups.

* * *

By the time they reached the festival venue, Myungjun’s voice was warmed up, his harmonies were stable and consistent, and he was ready to perform. The venue was outdoors, a mildly rickety stage at the far end of a lush green field. It had a brightly-striped awning flapping in the breeze as their only protection from the elements. The sound and light system looked to be about ten years out of date, but there was seating for an audience about a thousand strong, and every seat was filled. The edges of the field were lined with stalls for food vendors and little game booths. According to the banner over the parking lot, which was packed with cars and dusty farm trucks and even a tourist bus, this was a local peach festival.

Myungjun spotted the company van at the far end of the parking lot near some other company vans. He wondered which other artists would be present. It was always good to know which acts they would follow and precede so they could MC for them a little bit. 

Rocky parked the car and gestured for Myungjun to wait before he stepped out and ducked his chin, likely consulting with Ddana as he circled around the car before opening the passenger door for Myungjun.

A massive white canvas tent behind the stage served as a group dressing room for today’s performers. It was easy for Myungjun to spot his team, because his team was by far the biggest, four other young men in bright silky shirts, stylists fussing with their hair and faces.

Rocky paused at the entrance, Myungjun beside him, and scanned the place before leading Myungjun over to the little space demarcated for his team. Miyeon and Sohye, the stylists, had set up a little space with screens for them to change behind.

“Hyung, right on time,” Jinook said, bouncing to his feet. “Where’s your bodyguard?”

He paused and frowned, looking Rocky up and down. 

“Is _this_ Mister Bodyguard? He looks so — skinny.”

“Yah,” Myungjun said. “Keep your voice down. Don’t make it so obvious he’s a bodyguard, all right? You’ll just be painting a target on him.”

Rocky inclined his head politely, then ducked his chin, listened to an incoming transmission from Ddana. He put a hand in the small of Myungjun’s back and urged him toward the little dressing room, so Myungjun hurried to squirm into his costume. He could hear his teammates greeting Rocky, and Rocky responding politely but briefly. For some reason, Myungjun didn’t want to leave Rocky alone with them for too long.

As soon as Myungjun was in his stage costume, Rocky guided him over to an unoccupied makeup chair and stayed near him, keeping an eye out while the makeup artists and hair stylists prepared him for the stage. 

“Have you already done your military service?” Hyeokjin asked.

“I have, hyungnim,” Rocky said, bobbing his head politely.

“What branch did you serve in?” Hyungseok asked. “I was in the navy.”

“Apologies, that’s classified.”

“Classified?” Jinook lit up. “Were you some kind of secret agent then?”

Hoetaek swatted him on the arm. “Do you not know what ‘classified’ means?”

“If someone tries to shoot Myungjun-hyung, will you really step in the path of the bullet?” Jinook pressed.

“Only if I can’t disable the shooter first,” Rocky said.

“Hey, he’s working,” Jinwoo said. “Don’t bother him. He needs to focus. And you need to focus on your performance. Here’s the set list. Look who’s going before and after you.”

“Who is it?” Myungjun asked, since he couldn’t turn his head.

Hyungseok was a trot aficionado to the point where he listened to no other music at all, which meant he never knew any other artists whenever the team appeared on regular music broadcast shows, but he always knew every single artist when they performed at trot festivals. He rattled off what he knew about the artists, their most popular songs, their particular charms and talents, and Hoetaek nodded. Since he was the team leader, he usually acted as their MC at performances, so it would be his job to introduce the team. However, the others could chime in to help. 

Jinook offered to do the closing comments and introduce the next performer, so Hyeokjin agreed to give the opening comments thanking the previous performer.

Myungjun closed his eyes and relaxed under the gentle whisper of the makeup brushes over his skin.

Yes, he was getting excited and a little nervous about taking the stage, but this was what he’d trained for, what he lived for. This was _good._ He was in his element, in his zone, with his team.

Just as the makeup artist and hair stylist declared him ready, an AD with a headset and tablet approached and bowed and informed Jinwoo that they were needed at the stage in ten minutes for soundcheck.

All of the performers would do very brief soundchecks, and once the sound team and lighting crew knew what was needed, the transition time between performers would be brief indeed. Rocky followed Myungjun and his teammates over to the stage for the soundcheck. As they walked, Rocky kept an eye out, scanning their surroundings. Myungjun thought he saw Rocky counting the people who walked past them. How could he possibly keep count of them all?

He followed them onto the stage even though Jinwoo didn’t, but he managed to blend in, holding water bottles and little electric hand fans, acting like a very helpful assistant even though his gaze was outward, constantly moving.

“How do you know that none of the stagehands are out to get me?” Myungjun asked under cover of accepting a bottle of water.

“Ddana has vetted them all,” Rocky murmured, still scanning their surroundings. He held a bottle of water out to Hyeokjin before Hyeokjin had to ask for it.

Hyeokjin thanked him and accepted it, startled.

Soundcheck went smoothly, and then it was back to the dressing room to wait till it was their turn to perform. Through it all, Rocky continued to play the attentive PA, sticking close to Myungjun but helping the others, handing out snacks and drinks and fans, reminding them to watch their makeup and hair, talking to them about their schedule.

“You have our schedule memorized?” Hoetaek asked.

“To the extent that it coincides with Myungjun-ssi’s, of course,” Rocky said.

“What are you going to do while we’re on stage?” Hyunseok asked.

“Based on what you discussed as to your set list and what I’ve seen from your previous performance videos, we’ve calculated where Myungjun will spend the majority of his time on stage, so I’ll be on that side of the stage to minimize distance between us in case of an emergency.” Rocky handed Myungjun a packet of pretzels.

“Thank you,” Myungjun said.

Jinook said, “You really are like a robot.”

Myungjun hissed and swatted at him and felt guilty for ever thinking that about Rocky.

Rocky said, “My teammates are excellent at research and surveillance.”

“Teammates?” Hoetaek echoed.

“To ensure Myungjun-ssi’s safety he needs security around the clock,” Rocky said. “I’m human, and humans need sleep.”

Jinwoo said in a low voice, “Let Rocky-ssi do his job. You have jobs to do too. Come on. Smile and pose.” He held up his camera.

Myungjun immediately tilted his head up and beamed. Jinwoo was a skilled photographer, always did Myungjun and his teammates justice. He could have been a professional photographer with how good he was. Rocky managed to slide out of the photo’s frame but stay within arm’s reach. 

When it was finally Super Five’s turn to take the stage, Myungjun looked out over the crowd. He was pleased to see plenty of fan slogans among the audience. Super Five was a bit of a crossover act, built and presented like an idol group, drawing a younger and often international audience, but also still appealing to the more typical trot audience. He also saw some protest signs in the audience, rainbows with lines drawn through them, and he even saw some people shake their heads and stand up and walk away while Hoetaek and Hyeokjin did the opening comments.

No matter. Myungjun and his teammates were there to perform and entertain. Rocky and his teammates were ensuring Myungjun’s safety so he could keep on doing what he always did, which was hold his head high, smile brightly, and let his voice soar. So Myungjun winked at the crowd, shimmied his shoulders, and when the opening notes hit the air, he came to life.

For all that there were a few protesters and some people who’d walked away before the performance even began, Super Five had enough fans and gave off enough energy that the crowd got into it, people clapping along, some people standing up and dancing, and Myungjun couldn’t help but smile. As he moved across the stage, Hoetaek caught his eye and grinned at him. The performance was going well. Everything would be all right.

Myungjun cast about and saw Rocky standing at the edge of the stage, just on the steps, and so Myungjun headed over to him when it was time for Jinook’s solo after the group number. Myungjun made sure his mic was off.

“Everything look all right?” he murmured, but Rocky wasn’t looking at him, was scanning the crowd.

Myungjun didn’t bother asking what Rocky thought of the performance, because of course Rocky and his teammates had studied footage of previous performances. Nothing would be new or impressive to him.

Myungjun did his best to focus on his teammates through their duet and solo, and then it was his turn. He sailed onto the stage, grinning, and applauded Hyungseok’s efforts, cooed over his earnest trot prodigy teammate. And then he and Jinook wowed the crowd with their cuteness.

Then it was time for the final group number, which was another high energy piece, and everyone in the crowd who could manage it was on their feet by the time it was done — and Myungjun thought he could even hear a fan chant underneath the regular cheering and clapping. The team took their bows, and Jinook did the final comments, and they did their team farewell, and then it was back to the dressing room.

Rocky planted himself close to Myungjun as soon as he stepped off the stage, one hand in the small of his back, guiding him along to the dressing room, firm but not forceful as they moved through the throng of staff and other artists. He stayed close while Myungjun scrubbed off the heaviest of the stage makeup, and then he was right outside the little changing booth while Myungjun changed back into his regular clothes. Super Five would be headed to a radio station for a visual radio interview and some live singing after this, and of course Rocky would be driving Myungjun alone again.

“Jinwoo-ssi,” an AD in a black uniform said, approaching with an armful of flowers. She darted a glance at Jinook and blushed. “Some fans have sent gifts.”

Another AD trailed behind her carrying a basket of stuffed animals and candy and letters and cards.

“Thank you,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun glanced at Rocky. Any fan mail for him, of course, would have to be inspected by Ddana and Bin.

Jinook and Hoetaek always got flowers, as two of the more handsome members of the team, but Myungjun was considered part of the team’s visual line as well, so when Jinwoo handed him a bouquet, he wasn’t surprised, but he was flattered.

“I have to check it for bugs,” Rocky said quietly, and he swept a small metal device over the wrapped stems before he handed it over to Myungjun.

The bouquet was beautiful, all dark blue and purple and red roses interspersed with black lace and black pearls and tied with black ribbon. It had a very gothic feel to it, which Myungjun found a bit odd, given his team’s generally bright and sunny concept, but he could appreciate the aesthetic. There was even a heavy cameo charm attached to it, a silhouette of a victorian gentleman.

“You have such generous fans,” Hyungseok said. He had plenty of his own fans, but where he had a shy personality, he was a bit less popular, though plenty of fans found his shyness cute and endearing, especially old ladies. He was never jealous of his teammates, though.

“They are very kind to me,” Myungjun said.

“When they’re not trying to kill you,” Jinook said, admiring his own bouquet.

Hyeokjin clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Those aren’t fans. Those are stalkers and antis.”

Jinook ducked his chin, chastised. “Sorry, hyung.”

“It’s fine,” Myungjun murmured. He ducked his head and inhaled. He loved the scent of roses. Only the roses didn’t smell right. They smelled like pumpkin.

Myungjun felt his throat close. He started to wheeze. He couldn’t breathe. His vision turned gray, and then —

Hands on his shoulders steadied him.

“He must be allergic to whatever was used to dye the roses.” Rocky spoke loudly. “Does anyone have an epi pen? No? Call an ambulance. Right now.”

“An allergy?” Jinwoo echoed.

Myungjun didn’t have any allergies, did he? But he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe._ His head swam. His lungs felt like there was a band of iron tightening around them.

“Hoetaek, get me that plastic bag over there,” Rocky said. “Put the bouquet in it and tie it shut.”

“Plastic bag? Over where?” Hoetaek asked.

“Now!” Rocky snapped. He wrapped an arm around Myungjun’s shoulders and held him, reached out and tipped his chin back. “I’m doing my best to keep his airways open, but he’s having trouble breathing.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” Jinwoo said. “What’s going on?”

“We have to get him out of this dressing room and over to where the ambulance can reach him fast,” Rocky said. 

Myungjun felt his world tilt and then sway, and he realized Rocky was carrying him. 

“Hoetaek, bring the flowers,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Jinwoo asked again.

Myungjun squeezed his eyes shut against the sunlight, trying to draw in a deep breath.

“The flowers were poisoned,” Rocky said. “An airborne toxin.” 

He sank to his knees and laid Myungjun out gently, tipped Myungjun’s head back and opened his mouth so he could breathe better, but Myungjun was still wheezing desperately, unable to speak.

“Poisoned?” Jinwoo hissed.

Was Myungjun going to die? He felt like he was dying.

Rocky said, “Get me all the security footage from the venue to see who delivered the flowers.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jinwoo said, and then, “Oh, you’re not talking to me.”

After that, Myungjun faded in and out of awareness. He heard people talking around him, Rocky occasionally shouting at people. Heard the wail of ambulance sirens. The rapid exchange between Rocky, Jinwoo, and the paramedics. The crinkle of the plastic bag the poisoned bouquet was in.

“Who’s going to the hospital as his guardian?” a paramedic asked.

“Me,” Rocky said.

Myungjun felt a hand curl through his and hold tightly.

“I won’t leave you,” Rocky said.

Myungjun didn’t remember much beyond that point, but he was pretty sure the hand holding his never let go.

* * *

Myungjun swam back to consciousness. He could breathe. It felt good. He inhaled long and slow and deep.

Someone was still holding his hand.

He opened his eyes, and he was lying in a hospital bed.

Rocky was slumped over, asleep with his head on Myungjun’s thigh, still holding his hand. It might have been like something out of a drama, only Bin and Ddana were standing behind him, their backs to him, and they were dressed all in black — black hoodies, black jeans, like a pair of thugs instead of bodyguards, and they were talking to Jinwoo.

“Was he right?” Jinwoo asked. “Were the flowers poisoned?”

“I ran the results myself once I got the preliminary results back from the lab,” Ddana said. “Phosgene can cause severe lung damage. It smells like pumpkins. It was a clever choice, innocuous, so someone wouldn’t notice it standing out among all the other floral scents.”

Jinwoo sighed. “Sanha —”

Ddana — his real name was Sanha — ducked his head. “Sorry, hyung. It’s just — this stalker is smart. He knew we were checking the mail so he went with the flowers. He knew we’d sweep the bouquet for physical things like bugs but not consider a more subtle weapon like an aerosol poison.”

“What did the doctor say about Myungjun?” Bin asked.

“Thankfully there’s no permanent damage, but he’ll need a while to heal,” Jinwoo said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked pained. “This escalated so fast.”

“That was a risk we knew we faced, in bringing in advanced security,” Bin said quietly. “But he’s tipped his hand and also cut off one of his own avenues of attacks, plus more now that we’ve seen how he thinks.”

“What’s the plan now?” Jinwoo asked. “Obviously Myungjun needs to stay home and recover, however long that takes.”

“The difficulty is that we’re definitely dealing with two stalkers,” Sanha said. “The one who tried to poison Myungjun-ssi is the anti, who wants him dead. By giving Myungjun extra security, we caused that stalker to decompensate, and he escalated. The other stalker is in love with him. By isolating Myungjun from the public eye and canceling his schedules, that stalker will become desperate and also decompensate.”

“So it’s a lose-lose. Should we report to the police?” Jinwoo asked.

“Obviously the police have been notified about the poisoning incident,” Bin said. “But we will notify them about the extent of the threats. What we should do, once Myungjun is healed, is have an interview about the anti stalker, frame it in terms of hatred against the queer community. Don’t give the delusional stalker any more fuel for their delusion. If we continue to control the narrative, he’ll get desperate and misstep. He’s not as smart as the anti. He’ll be easier to catch.”

“How close are we to catching either stalker?” Jinwoo sounded exhausted.

“I’m still working on gathering the footage from today’s festival. It’ll take Bin-hyung and I a while to comb through it to see who delivered the poisoned bouquet,” Sanha said. “But while Myungjun-ssi is at home and recovering, he’ll be safe in a controlled environment with just one person guarding him, and that’ll give us more time to run down our leads.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jinwoo said.

“We’re closer, but we can’t give you a timeline,” Bin said.

Jinwoo sighed and nodded. “Keep him safe. He’s my best friend.”

“We’re literally protecting him with our lives,” Sanha said.

“Aish. Be respectful to Jinjin-hyung.” Bin swatted Sanha on the shoulder. Then his tone sobered. “We’ll catch them.”

“I know you will.” Jinwoo craned his neck. “Is Rocky all right? That can’t be comfortable.”

“He can sleep anywhere,” Sanha said easily. 

Myungjun started to cough.

Rocky came awake in an instant. He was at Myungjun’s side a moment later, helping him sit up, holding a little cup of water to his lips. He drank greedily, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was, how dry his throat was. Rocky refilled the cup so he could drink gain.

“Hyung. How are you feeling?” Jinwoo asked.

Myungun managed a weak _so-so_ gesture with one hand. 

Rocky stepped back to give them space and a bit of privacy. Bin and Sanha immediately moved to guard the door, and Rocky went to inform the nurse that Myungjun was awake.

A moment later, a doctor who could have been a supermodel strode into the room, trailed by a couple of nurses. 

Dr. Park Jisung was tall, slender, and beautiful. He might have rivaled Cha Eunwoo, but Myungjun didn’t like them quite that skinny. Dr. Park had a data tablet in hand and didn’t look at all concerned by the amount of security Myungjun had in his room. He nodded at Jinwoo, didn’t even look at Rocky, and nodded at Myungjun.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kim?”

“Like I’m lucky to be alive,” Myungjun managed to croak out, and a nurse handed him another cup of water.

“You are lucky to be alive,” Dr. Park said. “You will make a full recovery. In order to ensure you heal properly, you will need to rest and take it slow and easy. No intense cardio. No straining your throat or voice. Stay hydrated. Don’t exert yourself. Not quite bed rest but as close to it as you can manage.”

Myungjun nodded.

“Sit up so I can check you over?”

Jinwoo helped Myungjun sit up so Dr. Park could look down his throat and up his nose and listen to his heart and lungs. 

“I can discharge you later today, but if it becomes difficult to breathe, if you spike a fever, or develop a cough or feel burning in your throat, or feel your chest constrict, return immediately,” Dr. Park said. He scribbled something on the tablet with a fancy digital pen. “Drink some honey tea to ease the burn in your throat.”

Myungjun nodded.

“Any questions?”

Myungjun shook his head.

Dr. Park glanced at Jinwoo, then at Rocky, Bin, and Sanha.

“Don’t use any harsh chemical cleaning agents. No strong perfumes or colognes. Do you smoke?” he asked.

Myungjun shook his head. Even though Myungjun would never risk his voice like that, plenty of singers and musicians smoked.

“Well, no smoking,” Dr. Park said. “Not from anyone around you. No incense, no overly-scented candles. In fact, get an air purifier. Don’t use any scented soaps or skin creams if you can help it. Understood?”

Bin, Sanha, and Rocky nodded.

“Don’t eat any overly-spicy food either,” Dr. Park said. “Not for a week at least.”

Myungjun made a face but nodded.

Rocky looked at Jinwoo and said, “I’ll make sure he eats properly.”

Myungjun wanted to protest, but Dr. Park said, “You’re lucky your security acted as fast as they did. You have no permanent lung damage. But you must take it easy. Don’t be a hero. Take care of yourself. You have a very fine voice. Protect it.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Myungjun said meekly, and winced, because his throat burned.

A nurse handed him another cup of water.

Dr. Park reached into one of his white coat pockets — and came up with a CD. “Also, could I get your autograph? My grandmother loves you.”

“Of course,” Myungjun said. “What’s your grandmother’s name?”

“Lee Dasom,” Dr. Park said.

Myungjun, in true idol fashion, wrote a cute message for Dasom-noona, signed it with his extravagant signature and a little heart, and handed it back.

After that, Dr. Park was all business. He promised to provide Jinwoo with hard copies of all the discharge documentation and aftercare recommendations so the company would be aware of how Myungjun’s schedule should be adjusted. He reiterated his instructions to Sanha, Bin, and Rocky, and then he bade Myungjun farewell.

“Once you get discharged, you’ll go home and rest,” Jinwoo said. “For twenty-four hours, you rest. No trips outside. No visitors. No SNS. _I’m_ putting you on bed rest.”

“I’ll get bored,” Myungjun protested, and devolved into a fit of coughing.

Rocky brought him a cup of water immediately.

“Catch up on all the dramas you’ve been missing. Read a book,” Jinwoo said. “Or, you know, sleep. I know you don’t get nearly enough sleep.”

Myungjun glared over the top of the paper cup.

“After you’ve rested, we’ll discuss what to do about your stalkers,” Jinwoo said.

“Stalkers plural?” Myungjun asked. He’d overheard several conversations now that there were two, but this was the first time anyone had seen fit to actually tell him about it.

Jinwoo nodded. “Two. They’re not working together. They have different goals and motivations. But your security team is handling it. Concentrate on following the doctor’s orders and getting better.”

“What about the musical?”

“The understudy can handle a couple of performances this week,” Jinwoo said.

“You don’t think the understudy is behind this, do you?” Myungjun asked.

Rocky shook his head. “No, he’s been eliminated from the suspect list. He failed his college introductory chemistry course.”

“Oh, so my stalker is some kind of science genius.” Myungjun sank back against his pillows.

“Apologies, Myungjun-ssi, I didn’t mean —” Rocky bit his lip, fell silent.

Jinwoo said, “They know what they’re doing. They’ll handle it.”

Myungjun eyed Bin and Sanha, who hadn’t moved from the door, Bin who was watching the hallway while Sanha kept an eye on the windows. 

“I’ll stay with you till you’re discharged, and then I have to get back to the others,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun shook his head. “Go. They need you now.”

Jinwoo frowned. “But —”

“I have three bodyguards. They only have one Jinwoo. Go.”

Jinwoo rose, still frowning. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Hyungseok and Jinook are probably crying and you know it.”

With a heavy sigh, Jinwoo headed for the door. He paused and spoke to Bin and Sanha, who nodded, and then he departed.

“Do you need anything, Myungjun-ssi?” Rocky asked.

 _To get the hell out of here and get my life back,_ Myungjun thought and was overcome by a sudden yawn. “I think I’ll just sleep some more, actually.”

He laid back and closed his eyes.

“Sleep well, Myungjun-ssi,” Rocky said quietly.

Myungjun felt someone tuck the blankets around him more securely, and then he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke several hours later, Bin was standing just inside the door, and Sanha was just outside the door, and Rocky was nowhere to be seen. Bin alerted a nurse to Myungjun’s wakefulness, and a nurse summoned Dr. Park.

Dr. Park had him sign discharge documents on a data tablet. After Dr. Park left, Bin closed the door so Myungjun could change into clean clothes.

Sanha had hard copies of Myungjun’s discharge paperwork in hand when Myungjun shuffled out of the hospital room. Even though Bin and Sanha were both dressed like stylish entertainment company interns, both of them wearing glasses, slacks, and soft-looking sweaters, they were practically looming over Myungjun as they escorted him down to the parking garage and helped him into a car Myungjun had never seen before.

“How many cars do you have?” he asked.

Sanha ushered him into the front seat. Bin took the wheel, and Sanha slid into the back seat.

“We have enough that people trying to tail our cars can’t keep track of which cars are ours,” Bin said.

Jinwoo had said that Bin and his security team were the best money could buy. How much money had the company spent for Myungjun? Because Myungjun hadn’t been kidding when he said he wasn’t Cha Eunwoo.

Myungjun dozed on the drive back to his new dorm. When he arrived, Sanha woke him gently. The trip up to the apartment was uneventful, though Bin and Sanha were no less vigilant, checking the parking garage, the elevator lobby, the elevator, and then the hallway before they let Myungjun into any of those places.

He was surprised when they didn’t make him wait while they checked the apartment.

But then when they opened the front door, he saw Rocky standing at the stove, stirring something in a wok while two other pans sizzled.

“Smells good,” Bin said.

“Ready in five minutes,” Rocky replied. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Welcome home, Myungjun-ssi.”

Myungjun said, “Thank you.”

“Ddana-ya, get him some tea.” Rocky nodded to the electric kettle on the counter.

Sanha nodded and bustled over to the cupboard full of mugs.

Bin guided Myungjun to the couch.

“I know your names,” Myungjun said. “I heard them when you were talking to each other and Jinwoo.”

Sanha and Bin looked at each other.

“Sanha and Bin. Not Rocky — not yet. But you two. You can keep up with your weird codenames if you want, but you don’t have to.”

Bin scratched the side of his neck. “We haven’t been very careful. Apologies, Myungjun-ssi.”

“As long as you’re careful with my life,” he said.

Sanha held out a mug of tea. Myungjun inhaled the honey-scented steam.

“We’re guarding your life with our lives, regardless of our names,” Sanha said.

Myungjun sipped some of the tea cautiously. It wasn’t too sweet or too bitter, was just how he liked it. The honey felt good on his throat.

Finally Myungjun said, “Should all three of you be awake at the same time?”

Bin said, “While you’re at home recovering, we can afford to be on a different schedule.”

“Will you tell me what’s up with me having two stalkers?” Myungjun asked.

“Our orders are to allow you to rest for twenty-four hours,” Bin said. “So please, rest.”

Myungjun scowled. “So you don’t take orders from me.”

Rocky said, “Food’s ready.”

He’d made saffron rice, coconut chicken, and fried onions. It was tasty but not spicy. Once again, he ate standing up while the other two ate with Myungjun at the table. There was little conversation during the meal. After, Bin did the washing up while Sanha did a perimeter check. 

Even though none of Myungjun’s limbs had been injured, Rocky hovered over Myungjun while he returned to the couch. As soon as Myungjun sat down, Rocky brought him a blanket and tucked it over his legs. Then he brought Myungjun another mug of honey tea and set it on the little end table beside him. He also plugged in a little portable air purifier beside Myungjun, and he went and plugged in another one in the bedroom.

“Do you want the remote to watch television, or a book to read?” Rocky asked.

Myungjun stared at him. He was pretty sure that Rocky hovering and coddling wasn’t any part of a bodyguard’s duties. He was tempted to ask Rocky to fluff his pillows or give him a foot rub, but he was afraid Rocky might blow a fuse or short circuit or something. Instead he said, 

“My sketchbook and pens are in my room. I’d like to draw for a while.”

“Of course, Myungjun-ssi.” Rocky nodded and hurried into Myungjun’s room.

It said something about just how much Rocky knew about Myungjun’s life and room, that he didn’t have to ask _where_ in Myungjun’s room his drawing supplies were, because Rocky returned moments later with Myungjun’s sketchbook and case of drawing pens and handed them over.

“Thank you,” Myungjun said, arranging his sketchbook and pens on his lap. Then he said, “Hold still for me so I can draw you.”

Rocky froze. “Pardon?”

“You have an interesting face. I want to draw you.” Myungjun smiled at Rocky.

Rocky did look like he was about to short circuit. He blinked rapidly. “Ah, Myungjun-ssi, I’m supposed to maintain perimeter security while Sanha and Bin-hyung handle further research into the stalker.”

“Can’t you do that while you sit still?”

Any moment now, Rocky.exe was going to shut down and require restarting.

Only Bin said, “Yes, he can sit still and keep an eye out. We have CCTV running constantly. While all three of us are here, this place is very safe.”

Myungjun gestured to the other end of the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Not too comfortable,” Sanha said.

Rocky perched on the edge of the other end of the couch, alert, scanning the windows and doors. 

“What are the chances of someone dropping down from the ceiling?” Myungjun asked, sketching in some light guidelines. 

Rocky did have an attractive profile. 

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Chances are low, since an intruder would have to make an incursion through the upstairs apartment, and your neighbors would likely alert us to an incursion first, unless the intruder managed to time their incursion when your neighbors weren’t home.”

Apparently Rocky.exe had rebooted itself and was running smoothly again. 

Myungjun laughed. “I was kidding.”

“It was a valid inquiry.”

“Do you ever relax?”

Rocky turned to him and pinned him with that intense, dark-eyed gaze. “Your safety is something I should never be relaxed about.”

Myungjun remembered how Rocky had held his hand and not let go, not once, not in the ambulance, not even while they were both asleep in the hospital, and his smile faded. “Of course.” He cleared his throat, and he set to drawing in earnest.

Sanha and Bin, he noticed, were checking his fan mail once again. This time they were handling it with gloves. Sanha was using some kind of chemical swab to check the paper and setting each piece aside to dry while Bin skimmed them and sorted them into piles.

Sanha also had a scanner and was scanning pieces of mail, and he was also typing on a laptop. The tablet at his elbow showed the CCTV feeds he was monitoring. How he didn’t have some kind of attention deficit issue, Myungjun didn’t know.

Rocky continued to sit still and scan the windows, doors, ceiling — and floors.

He had high cheekbones and a slender throat, and the line of his jaw was very attractive. The military shortness of his hair made his features more severe, but if he were an idol, he’d have longer hair that was feathered away from his face, some dangly earrings to give him a more feminine touch, some makeup to make his eyes wider and smoky. 

But barefaced as he was, he was handsome, and Myungjun was enjoying drawing him. There was something meditative about considering the lines and shadows of and shapes of someone, of stepping back and thinking abstractly about a form.

Sanha said, “The theater production company posted the announcement that the understudy will be performing your role tonight.”

Myungjun paused in sketching the outline of Rocky’s mouth. Compared to Bin, he had lovely full lips. “How do you know?”

“Some ambitious reporters have emailed you directly for comment, bypassing the company entirely; also fans are flooding SNS with ‘get well oppa’ comments and hugging emojis,” Sanha said.

Myungjun set down his pen. “You’re monitoring my email?”

“To filter out threats, obviously.” Sanha tapped at his laptop some more. “I’ve notified Jinwoo-hyung about the questions from reporters. And now the company announcement has gone live as well, that you are being targeted by a stalker — just one — and you were hospitalized briefly and you’re at home recovering and you will be cooperating with police. All your teammates have posted individual messages wishing you a speedy recovery and prayers for your safety. Fan comments are flooding in. More reporter questions too. I’ll set some filters on everything. Should be able to weed out the spam and the threats that way.”

Myungjun sighed and closed his sketchbook, set it aside. He put his pens back in their case and set it aside as well, then sat back.

His phone buzzed on the table beside him. He checked it.

It was a text message from, of all people, Cha Eunwoo.

_Hyung, are you all right?_

Myungjun wanted to say, _No, I’m not,_ but he couldn’t say that. He was the team vitamin, the sunshine and mood maker.

Rocky said, “Jinwoo-hyung’s orders were to rest, to stay off of SNS.”

“It’s just a text message.”

“Unless it’s your family or teammates, it can probably wait,” Rocky said.

In a sense, members of the cast of the musical were Myungjun’s teammates, weren’t they?

“I’m just letting my cast members know I’m all right,” Myungjun said.

Rocky said, “Don’t stress yourself out.”

Myungjun bit back the urge to say, _Yes, Mother,_ and instead tapped out a reply to Eunwoo. _I’m safe in my dorm. My manager hired some extra security for me. I’ll be fine. Once I’m healed up I’ll be back on stage with you. Don’t kiss the other boy too enthusiastically._

Eunwoo’s response was quick. _Take care, hyung. Rest well and heal well._

Myungjun typed back, _Thank you,_ and then he set his phone aside.

To Rocky, he said, “Maybe I’ll watch some TV after all.”

TV was mindless. Myungjun didn’t want to think too hard anymore. Myungjun turned on Viki and found a drama he’d seen before, one that usually made him smile, and settled in to watch. The characters were familiar, and he liked the soundtrack, and it was sort of like visiting old friends.

Myungjun made it about three episodes in before he started to drowse.

He was only half-aware when Rocky stood up and switched off the television, then brought him a pillow and tucked another blanket around him.

Bin and Sanha lowered their voices, and Myungjun fell asleep to the soft sound of Sanha typing.

* * *

When Myungjun awoke, he was asleep on the couch, comfortable with a pillow and a couple of blankets. He went to stand up so he could go to the bathroom, only when he swung his legs over the side of the couch, he almost stepped on Rocky, who was sleeping on the floor beside the couch on one of the sleeping pallets, still as a statue.

He was flat on his back, arms by his sides. He wasn’t even wearing pajamas, was fully dressed.

Sanha was asleep in front of the window.

Bin was awake, sitting at the table monitoring the CCTV feed on the tablet and feeding fanmail through the scanner still.

“Myungjun-ssi,” he said quietly. “Did you need something?”

“Just to use the bathroom.” Myungjun went to ease himself over Rocky, only Rocky woke up.

Myungjun yelped and fell on Rocky, who caught him and pinned him to the sleeping pallet.

Sanha came awake with a shout.

Myungjun tried to say, _It’s me!_ but he devolved into a fit of coughing. 

For a moment, he was terrified of Rocky’s steel grip on him, the icy glint in his eyes. But then Rocky rolled off of him and pulled him up, held him gently.

“Bin-hyung, get him a glass of water.”

Bin was on his feet and in the kitchen immediately. 

“Myungjun-ssi, I’m very sorry,” Rocky said. He smoothed a hand up and down Myungjun’s arm, cradling Myungjun against his chest. He was warm and firm. 

Myungjun couldn’t answer, still coughing. 

Bin knelt in front of him and offered him the glass of water. 

Sanha rolled over and went back to sleep. 

Myungjun drank. The tightness in his lungs and the burning in his throat should have frightened him more, but he was more distracted by the large, warm hand skating up and down his arm and Rocky’s solid presence at his back. 

Finally he said, “Thank you.”

“All better?” Rocky asked. 

Myungjun nodded. 

“Did you need something?” Rocky’s voice was low and warm as well, solicitous. 

“I was just going to the bathroom and I almost stepped on you. I didn’t expect you to be sleeping so close,” Myungjun said. 

“I have to stay close to keep you safe,” Rocky said. 

Would the others sleep as close on different nights? Myungjun wondered. He handed the glass back to Bin, who took it back to the kitchen, then resumed his place at the table with the scanner. 

For a moment, Myungjun relaxed into Rocky’s warmth. Rocky was still petting his arm. 

Finally Myungjun said, “I still have to go to the bathroom.”

“Ah — sorry.” Rocky stood, guiding Myungjun with him. 

Myungjun should have protested that his legs worked just fine, thank you very much, but Rocky was still sleep-warm, and he smelled good. After a moment, Myungjun extricated himself from Rocky’s hands, and he padded over to the bathroom. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Rocky was beside the door, literally standing guard. 

“Do you want to go back to the couch, or would you rather sleep in your bed?” he asked.

Myungjun couldn’t help but ask, “If I sleep in my bed will you sleep in it too?”

“I’ll sleep in front of the door, of course,” Rocky said.

Myungjun blinked. “Right. The bed. It’s more comfortable.”

Rocky nodded and went into the bedroom to check it over for any threats — as if any had arisen in the two minutes Myungjun had been in the bathroom — before he let Myungjun into the room. 

He’d also turned down the bed and made sure the air purifier was on. 

“Sleep well, Myungjun-ssi,” he said, before he closed the door. 

Myungjun crawled under the covers. Even though the bed was softer and much more comfortable than the couch, it felt colder. Too late, Myungjun realized he’d left his phone out in the den. Had he missed any messages from his family or teammates? 

Myungjun closed his eyes and felt stupidly alone. 

* * *

The next morning, Rocky made breakfast, and the other three ate together while he ate at the counter. 

“Jinwoo-hyung is coming over later so we can all strategize about what to do about the stalkers,” Bin said. 

Myungjun nodded. 

“You should rest till he arrives,” Rocky said. “Sanha-ya, you should do the dishes.”

Sanha made a face, but he nodded and stood. 

And then all three bodyguards went still at the same time, alert, sensing something Myungjun couldn’t. Had they heard something? Seen something? And then Myungjun saw — they were all wearing smart watches, and those were all glowing with some kind of incoming alert. Sanha went to check the CCTV feed on his tablet. Bin and Rocky took up positions on either side of the door. 

“How the hell did he get into the building?” Bin hissed.

“Someone must have let him in,” Sanha said.

Myungjun’s pulse jumped. “Who?”

Bin said, “Check your phone. Did he say he was coming?”

“He who?” Myungjun asked, but he went to check his phone. 

Rocky said, “Someone might have been trusting and just let him into the building.”

Myungjun had to swipe past a staggering number of SNS notifications before he found the messages from people he knew personally. Hyungseok and Hoetaek had both sent him messages asking how he was feeling. His mother and elder brother had texted him, asking if he was all right; his mother was upset that she’d had to hear about his hospitalization on the news, and his brother was concerned about how serious the stalker threat was. The actress who played his mother in the musical was concerned about him, as was the actress who played his best friend; they’d both wished him a speedy recovery and told him last night’s performance went well but wasn’t the same without him.

Jinwoo had texted him about coming over later; the bodyguards wouldn’t be concerned about Jinwoo coming over.

And then there was a text message from Eunwoo: _Hyung, I hope you don’t mind; I’m going to drop by with some porridge and honey tea and just visit for a bit._

“You can’t honestly think Cha Eunwoo is a threat,” Myungjun protested.

“He has the intellectual skill to have used phosgene gas to poison you,” Bin said.

Sanha added, “The one stalker who’s an anti takes a lot of issue with you kissing Eunwoo on stage and spreading your moral depravity through Eunwoo’s popularity, and the other stalker who’s obsessed with you is jealous of your stage kiss with Eunwoo and wants you all to himself. The fact that he’s a common denominator between the two is concerning.”

“But he’s Cha Eunwoo. He’s ten times more popular than me. Why would he want to hurt me?”

“Stalkers aren’t rational, and often they’re mentally ill,” Bin said.

“Eunwoo isn’t mentally ill,” Myungjun snapped.

There was a knock at the door. 

Myungjun looked down at himself and cursed. “I haven’t even showered.”

Rocky and Bin exchanged looks, and Bin nodded, answered the door.

From his spot on the couch where he’d planned on vegging and drawing and watching more dramas, Myungjun heard Eunwoo say,

“Hello,” and then, “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong apartment. I’m looking for Kim Myungjun. Does he live on this floor? He moved here very recently.”

It occurred to Myungjun that he had no idea how Eunwoo knew where he lived, and that suddenly Bin and Rocky and Sanha’s paranoia wasn’t so strange. Myungjun could only think of one thing.

He texted Jinwoo. _Besides you and my security team, who knows where I live?_

The response was immediate. _Your teammates. Also Cha Eunwoo asked if he could come visit you, so I gave him your address._

Myungjun sighed. _Did you clear it with Bin and Sanha and Rocky? Because I think they’re about to pounce on him and cavity-search him._

There was a pause, and then Jinwoo typed, _Let me clear it with them right now._

Myungjun saw Bin, Sanha, and Rocky all go still at the same time. Their watches glowed, but none of them looked at their watches. They must have been getting some kind of aural feedback over their ear monitors, the ones that no one could see.

Bin said, “Please, come in.” He stepped aside and allowed Eunwoo into the apartment.

Eunwoo stepped into the apartment and toed off his shoes. “Myungjun-hyung, how are you feeling?” He smiled at Myungjun. He was holding what looked like a lunchbox.

“I’m sorry, but we need to check you first,” Bin said.

“They’re my bodyguards,” Myungjun said.

Eunwoo blinked. “Oh, of course.” He set down the lunchbox and spread his arms out like he was going through airport security.

Bin patted Eunwoo down, then waved some kind of wand over him, which immediately beeped. Eunwoo took his wallet, keys, and cellphone out of his pocket, then removed his watch, and Bin waved the wand over him again.

“You have three bodyguards?” Eunwoo asked. He looked at Bin, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Have we met before?”

“We have,” Bin said shortly. 

“Where?” Eunwoo asked.

Myungjun said, “They’re very professional when they’re on-duty and not much for answering personal questions.” He smiled apologetically. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? Sorry I haven’t showered. I fell asleep and forgot my phone and didn’t check my messages till just now.”

“Sorry I dropped by on such short notice. It really wasn’t the same without you last night, and I was so worried after the news story broke. I could barely sleep last night.” Eunwoo scooped up the lunch box and carried it over to the coffee table, which Sanha had hurriedly cleared of any investigative paraphernalia. “I made it myself — porridge, and some honey pears for your throat, and also some honey tea.”

“I just had breakfast, but — I can try a little,” Myungjun said, and reached for the lunchbox.

Rocky caught his wrist. “Allow me, Myungjun-ssi.” He knelt beside the coffee table and waved a wand over the lunchbox.

Eunwoo looked surprised and a little offended, but then he smiled at Myungjun and said, “It’s good, that your company takes your safety so seriously.”

Rocky pulled on a pair of gloves before he touched the lunchbox, and he examined each of the containers inside individually. And then he opened them.

“What are you —” Myungjun began, and he remembered.

Rocky used the spoon Eunwoo had packed to test the porridge, and the chopsticks to test the pears.

“They taste-test your food?” Eunwoo asked.

“Anything that isn’t cooked by me or them,” Myungjun admitted. “It seemed weird at first, but — I almost died after I sniffed a bouquet after a performance yesterday, so.”

Eunwoo’s expression softened. “Hyung. Are you all right?”

“I’ll recover soon, and there was no permanent damage to my lungs, throat, or voice thanks to Rocky-ssi, since he acted so quickly.” Myungjun nodded at Rocky, who had dished up a small helping of pear and porridge and pushed it toward him.

“What about your teammates? Are they scared?” Eunwoo asked.

“I’m living apart from them temporarily, as you can see.” Myungjun gestured at his rather barren apartment.

“This is very serious.” Eunwoo darted another look at Bin, Sanha, and Rocky, who’d taken up strategic positions around the apartment. 

All three of them wore black — jeans, jackets, and boots. They didn’t look like stylish interns. They didn’t look casual, either. They looked dangerous. 

“The company is taking it very seriously, as am I,” Myungjun said. “I know I’ll have to talk to the police directly soon. Jinwoo and my security team have been working with them.”

“You must have been so stressed out. You never said.” Eunwoo glanced at Rocky again. “The other night. You said he was your temporary PA for the musical so Jinwoo could focus on the rest of your team.”

“Didn’t want to alert my stalker to my new security any sooner than was absolutely necessary, but the cat is out of the bag now, I think,” Myungjun said. He really didn’t want to talk about this any more than absolutely necessary either. “The porridge and pears are delicious. Thank you so much. How did Seungmin do last night? Was he terribly nervous?”

Eunwoo seemed willing to talk about how Seungmin, the understudy, had done with stepping into Myungjun’s role. Myungjun did his best to stay focused on Eunwoo and engaged in the conversation. He was grateful for Eunwoo’s company and concern, but the other three were hovering in the background, tense and alert.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” Eunwoo said finally. 

Myungjun smiled. “Your visit and your concern helped a lot. Thank you so much.”

Eunwoo rose and started for the door, then paused. “Does the rest of the cast and crew need to be concerned about their safety?”

Myungjun glanced at his bodyguards. The three of them exchanged looks before Sanha said,

“We’ve coordinated with the security at the theater, and we’ll continue to coordinate with them.”

Eunwoo nodded.

“Just make sure to keep your hands off of any gifts or fanmail that are addressed to Myungjun before one of us has vetted it,” Sanha said.

“I would never interfere with Myungjun-hyung’s fanmail,” Eunwoo said, frowning.

Sanha caught his gaze and held it. “Even if you think you’re trying to be polite or helpful by handing it to someone — don’t touch it. It could be poisoned or booby-trapped.”

Eunwoo’s eyes widened. “Oh. Of course.” He offered Myungjun a wobbly smile. “Feel better soon, hyung.”

“I will. The porridge and pears will help a lot.”

Eunwoo favored Myungjun with one of his famous crinkle-eyed smiles, and then Sanha showed him to the door.

“Also, please don’t tell anyone where Myungjun lives. Leave by a different route from the one you came, and make several detours before you arrive at your final destination, and wipe your GPS history on your phone and in your car,” Sanha said.

Eunwoo stared at him, then nodded.

“Don’t scare him,” Myungjun scolded.

“Your safety comes first, Myungjun-ssi,” Rocky said quietly.

Eunwoo waved and slipped on his shoes and ducked out the door.

It clicked shut behind him with an odd kind of finality.

Myungjun sighed and sank back on the couch. “Did you have a similar kind of talk with the rest of my teammates?” No wonder they were avoiding him.

“Yes, but they don’t know where you’re currently living,” Bin said. “They know not to handle any of your fanmail, as do your staff. All your fanmail is redirected to us so we can process it.”

Rocky packed up the food Eunwoo had brought and put it in the fridge. Sanha set up the scanner, CCTV monitoring tablet, and fanmail processing station on the coffee table.

“You should wash up,” Bin said. “Before Jinwoo-hyung gets here.”

Myungjun nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “How do you know Cha Eunwoo, besides the fact that he’s Cha Eunwoo?” He didn’t really expect an answer.

Only Bin said, “The same way we know Jinwoo-hyung. We went to the same high school.”

Myungjun knew Eunwoo and Jinwoo had gone to the same high school, a very prestigious performing arts high school in Seoul. Jinwoo was a talented dancer in his own right but didn’t enjoy being in the spotlight. If Bin had gone to the same high school, he must have had a performing arts background as well.

Perhaps acting? It made sense, the way he could blend in and look like a PA when he needed to; he’d passed his skill on to his teammates.

“Will it cause a problem, if he recognizes you?” Myungjun asked.

Bin said, “It won’t. We’re professionals.”

Eunwoo and Jinwoo’s school connection explained why Jinwoo had been so trusting about letting Eunwoo come visit, but Myungjun was unsettled by the morning’s events all the same. Maybe just the security team’s overreaction had bothered him? Although if Bin had gone to high school with Eunwoo, surely he knew Eunwoo wasn’t a threat? Only that must have been how Bin knew Eunwoo had the chemistry know-how to administer poison gas via a bouquet.

The hot shower and clean clothes helped Myungjun feel a bit more centered and calm. Jinwoo arrived not long after Myungjun had settled on the couch with his sketchbook.

Myungjun saw the moment all three bodyguards became alert, the way they tracked Jinwoo’s progress through the building on the CCTV. Sanha greeted Jinwoo at the door, let him in. They swept him for bugs, though they trusted him not to have any weapons. Sanha checked his phone for spy apps, and then it was time for a serious discussion.

Rocky brought Jinwoo a bottle of water and a snack.

“What have we got?” Jinwoo asked, settling into the armchair beside the couch.

“Two stalkers who are serious threats, and about a dozen or so wannabes who make threats but haven’t taken any active steps to harm Myungjun-ssi beyond hideous messages,” Sanha said.

“A dozen?” Myungjun asked.

Sanha nodded. “There are seven on SNS who operate multiple sock-puppet accounts. The linguistic analysis algorithm managed to isolate those, and I’ve shut them down and blocked them, but those people are like hydras; they’ll pop up again. Your loyal fans are pretty good about getting them reported and blocked.”

Bin gestured to the multiple stacks of fanmail. “There are three people who persistently send hate mail. I scanned those and ran them through the algorithm. Again, mostly just crazy weirdos who project their issues onto Myungjun. But we have isolated the two real threats — the one who thinks Myungjun is an evil immoral influence and wants him dead, and the one who is in love with Myungjun and wants him all to himself.”

Jinwoo sighed. “I’m so sorry, hyung.”

Myungjun squared his shoulders. “Well, only one of them will try to kill me, right?”

“That’s not actually true,” Bin said. “The anti stalker has already tried to kill you — with the flowers. He sees you as a pernicious moral influence, and as your popularity grows, your negative influence spreads. You being in a musical with Cha Eunwoo and having a kissing scene with him isn’t helping.”

“What if someone finds out that Eunwoo visited me?” Myungjun asked.

Bin cast Jinwoo a look. Jinwoo winced.

“We’ve handled it,” Sanha said.

Bin continued, “The stalker who’s in love with you has become very jealous of your repeated stage kisses with Eunwoo-ssi. If he feels like you’ve become too far out of reach or that you’ve betrayed his affection in some way, he might reach the point of ‘if I can’t have you, no one can’ and then try to kill you.”

“So this other stalker is a crazy fan who thinks I’m actually in love with him,” Myungjun said. He scratched the side of his neck, uneasy. “We all engage in fanservice, but everyone really knows it’s not real, right?”

“This fan is delusional and mentally ill,” Bin said. “If he had treatment, he’d know it’s not real, but he’s not well. He is, however, intelligent and able to plan and execute complex tasks like planting bugs in your dressing room at the theater.”

Myungjun shuddered. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“We’re going to do our best to keep you safe while we figure out who they are,” Bin said. “We’re working with the police to figure out where the poisoned flowers came from, where the stalker could have sourced that phosgene gas and the tools to weaponize it. While you’re in recovery and not doing any publicity or schedules and not getting on SNS, your delusional stalker is probably decompensating.”

“Decompensating?” Myungjun asked.

“You know how your fans get all sad on SNS when you don’t post a selca for a while?” Sanha asked.

Myungjun nodded.

“Like that, but about a thousand times worse. Not just sad, but also desperate and violent,” Sanha said. “He’s either going to launch a massive and ill-thought out attack and make it easy for us to catch him — or he’s going to reveal himself in a desperate bid for your attention.”

“Or possibly kill himself,” Rocky said quietly.

“You keep saying _he,”_ Myungjun said.

“Linguistic analysis makes it most likely the stalker is male,” Bin said absently. 

“But will a massive attack harm staff or cast or crew or my teammates?” Myungjun asked.

Jinwoo said, “That’s why we’re working with the police. They’ll be on alert.”

“It’s a double-edged sword,” Bin admitted. “Like we told Eunwoo-ssi, we’re also working with theater security to make sure the building is as safe as possible. The police are helping us vet theater personnel and cast and crew, but there are a lot of moving parts, and there are only so many of us in our agency.”

“So what do I do in all this?” Myungjun asked. “Just hide in my new dorm and wait for someone to try to kill me or you or my teammates or Eunwoo and my castmates or the crew on the musical or —?”

“In order to pressure both the delusional stalker and the anti, once you’ve had a few days to heal — and a few days away from the musical and SNS — you’ll do a single interview with a reputable news program,” Jinwoo said. “About the stalking incident.”

“In order to pressure the anti stalker as much as possible, we’ll make it calm and professional, so he knows law enforcement and the public are taking it seriously,” Bin said. “If the interview is framed in terms of the attacks on you being an attack on the LGBTQ community, he’ll see that his message isn’t being heard, and he’ll also get angry and decompensate. Meanwhile, the delusional stalker won’t hear anything about himself at all, about his love for you or any of the usual fanservice talk, and he’ll continue to decompensate.”

“Two birds, one stone,” Sanha added.

“The entire time, we’ll be monitoring SNS for the news program, the musical, and your fan accounts and email accounts, as well as CCTV around the company, the theater, and your usual dorm to see if there’s any uptick in activity,” Bin said.

Myungjun cast about for Rocky, who’d barely said anything, and saw that Rocky was standing just behind him, a solid, warm presence. He was maintaining security while the other two talked.

“But if you don’t like this strategy, we can try something different,” Jinwoo said. “We just have no idea how long any of this will take. Could be days. Weeks. Or even months.”

Myungjun didn’t think he could handle living like this for months, away from his teammates, constantly afraid of touching anything or eating anything, with three strangers hovering.

“Is there any other way?” he asked.

“We could hope that the stalkers give up,” Jinwoo said. “Wait for the musical to end its run.”

“The anti stalker might give up after that,” Bin conceded. “But the delusional stalker won’t.”

Sanha nodded his agreement. “The delusional stalker has been following Myungjun-ssi since debut, or thereabouts. My algorithm tracked his SNS posts back to really early days on the fan cafe and the official SNS accounts. He’s just grown more delusional and bolder over time.”

“But — my teammates. Jinwoo. Eunwoo and my castmates. The crew at the theater and the staff at the company.” Myungjun curled his hands into fists beneath his blanket and hoped the others couldn’t see.

“We’re doing our best to protect them,” Bin said. “But without us, they’d probably be at even greater risk.”

“The rest of your team is safer where they are and doing what they’re doing,” Jinwoo said. “The security and staff at the theater have been really helpful. Bin and his team are doing the best they can.”

Myungjun pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Set up the interview with the news people and the police and whoever else.”

“You still need to recover,” Jinwoo said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Myungjun said. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin.

Rocky said, “When I startled him last night he had a pretty bad coughing fit. He can’t exert himself at all.”

Myungjun glared at him. “Traitor.”

Jinwoo nodded. “You’re due for a doctor check-up in a couple of days. Until then, stay off of SNS. Leave any press inquiries to me. Only respond to messages from your teammates, your family, Eunwoo, and the actresses who play your mother and your best friend until me or your security team say otherwise.”

Myungjun nodded.

“I know this situation is awful,” Jinwoo said. “Is there anything I can do to make you a little more comfortable? I know Eunwoo brought you some food. Want me to bring you some DVDs or manga or something?”

“I’d ask for a whole lot of booze but we both know I can’t really hold my liquor.” Myungjun considered, then shook his head. “No. There’s nothing. I just want this whole thing to be over.”

“If you wanted to quit the musical, I’d understand. I could arrange it. No one would blame you,” Jinwoo said.

That made Myungjun sit up straighter. “And give that anti the satisfaction of thinking he’d defeated me? Never. Make sure I look handsome as hell for the interview. Subdued and professional, of course. But handsome as hell.”

Jinwoo cracked a grin. “Of course.” He rose, nodded at Bin and his teammates. “Let me know if there are any further developments.”

“We will,” Bin said. “And next time, give us a heads up if someone wants to visit. Before they’re on their way.”

Jinwoo winced. “I will.” He hugged Myungjun, and then he showed himself out.

“What now?” Myungjun asked, once Sanha had shut the door behind Jinwoo and the others had watched his exit from the building on the CCTV.

Rocky said, “You relax and heal till the interview. Do you want anything to eat or drink? What do you want me to cook for dinner? Or do you want me to sit still so you can draw me some more?” He sat down on the other end of the couch and posed, head tilted prettily.

Myungjun stared at him. “Who are you, my wife?”

Rocky just blinked at him.

Finally Myungjun said, “I like seafood. Make a seafood dish for dinner.”

Rocky nodded and rose, went to borrow Sanha’s laptop to look up recipes. “Do you like very spicy food, or no?”

“Not too spicy. I can handle medium spice,” Myungjun said.

“I don’t like seafood,” Bin protested.

“I’ll make you something different,” Rocky said absently. 

“I like killer spice,” Sanha said. He was scanning yet more fanmail. “But remember the doctor said nothing too spicy.”

“I’ll make it with medium spice,” Rocky said.

After several minutes, he scooped up some recyclable shopping bags and then swept out of the apartment.

Between all their preferences, Myungjun had no idea what they were going to have for dinner. He curled up on the couch and turned on a drama.

About an hour later, Rocky returned laden with ingredients for lunch and dinner. He made kimbap for lunch, along with cut fruit. He reheated the porridge and honey pears for Myungjun. After lunch, Myungjun napped a bit, and then he had Rocky sit still for him while he drew. Bin and Sanha finished scanning the mail and had moved on to reviewing the footage from the concert, trying to see who had delivered the flowers and what they could find from that angle.

“Well?” Myungjun asked.

“Your anti stalker is smarter than your delusional stalker,” Sanha said. “He’s wearing a uniform from a generic delivery service but not a florist shop, and he never takes off his motorcycle helmet.”

“A delivery gig is a great cover. Couriers are pretty unremarkable and forgettable, and they have an excuse to be just about anywhere,” Bin said. “But based on what we’ve got from the footage we have a sense of his height and build, and possibly the make and model of his motorcycle, although we have no way of knowing if that’s his personal vehicle or if he really works for a courier service.”

“Police are looking into courier services now,” Sanha said. “This stalker is bold, showing himself.”

“How come you’re sure it’s him?” Myungjun asked. “How do you know that’s not a generic delivery guy?”

Bin turned Sanha’s laptop so Myungjun could see the footage of the delivery man handing the bouquet to the staff girl who’d brought it backstage to Myungjun. “He’s the one who sprayed the bouquet with the phosgene at the last moment.”

Myungjun watched as the delivery man sprayed the bouquet with what looked like an ordinary squirt bottle, then gestured for the girl to deliver it. She nodded and hurried away.

“That girl could have been hurt so badly,” Myungjun said.

Sanha nodded grimly. “She’s lucky she wasn’t.”

“He was protecting himself with the helmet, not just hiding his identity,” Bin said.

Myungjun pressed a hand to his mouth. “He’s a psycho, isn’t he? He doesn’t care about anyone or anything besides hurting me.”

“Everyone else is collateral damage,” Sanha admitted.

Myungjun stared at nothing, mind racing. Finally he said, “Then let’s get this over with. Let’s find both of these bastards and stop them. I’ll risk my life if I have to.”

“We’ll do our best to make sure it won’t come to that,” Bin said. “It’s our job to risk our lives for you.”

Sanha nodded.

Myungjun glanced at Rocky, who was still scanning the apartment like one of the crazy stalkers really could come crashing through a door or window at any moment. Just how much money did it take, for these men to risk their lives for him? What went on in someone’s head, that they considered themselves expendable for someone like Myungjun?

“In the meantime, we’ll keep investigating, and you rest and recover,” Bin said.

That seemed to be the end of the discussion, for Rocky headed into the kitchen and pulled on his apron and washed his hands to start cooking dinner.

Sanha took over maintaining security while Bin continued with scanning fanmail and checking the results of the algorithm while it ran.

“I don’t know if it’ll please you to know that people missed you at last night’s performance,” Bin said. “Not just fans but press reviewers of the production. Seungmin is a good singer and performer but a bit too sweet and naive to portray the emotional depth you bring to the character.”

Myungjun, who’d been doodling geometric patterns in his sketchbook, looked up. “Oh?”

Bin said, “An ambitious reporter trying to bypass Jinwoo and your company’s PR corps tried to hook you by sending a link to an article. Also fans posting on SNS are quoting the article as sort of backhanded praise to show that you’re the superior performer.”

“That’s not very fair to Seungmin. He’s a seasoned musical actor, but he is young and baby-faced and his voice is a bit soft and gentle.” Myungjun sighed. “He probably plays a teenager more convincingly, though.”

“Smells good,” Bin called out to Rocky, and then, “wait, smells fishy.”

“The fish isn’t for you,” Rocky called back. “Get some vaseline.”

“Vaseline?” Myungjun asked.

“Smear it under your nose to block out a smell,” Bin said. “Old trick for handling corpses.”

“You handle a lot of corpses?” Myungjun asked, joking, but immediately regretted it.

Bin and Sanha cast him shadowed looks he couldn’t interpret. Finally Sanha said,

“I have a friend who’s a medical examiner. She shared the tip with me.”

“Makes sense,” Myungjun said faintly.

Bin actually stood up and headed into the bathroom. He returned several moments later, rubbing at his philtrum and making a face.

“I can still smell it,” he complained.

“Bin-hyung has a bloodhound’s nose,” Sanha said.

“I turned on the baking hood,” Rocky said.

“I think it smells good,” Myungjun said.

Supper was a pleasant affair, steamed fish in spicy sauce for Myungjun and Sanha, japchae and rice and marinated pork for Bin, kimchi and several side dishes for everyone. For once it was Bin who stood watch while Rocky sat and ate at the table with the others, though Rocky didn’t contribute to the conversation.

Myungjun asked Sanha about the algorithm he used to figure out who the stalkers were. As Myungjun had been an honor student in high school and learned some computer programming and advanced math, he knew the basics. An algorithm as only as good as the learning samples input; where did Sanha get learning samples from crazy stalkers? Sanha admitted that this wasn’t their first stalking case, but also they were working with the police and also had samples of known pieces of hate mail from the stalkers to compare against. How did the algorithm sort male from female writers? They could also feed in samples of writing from known male and female users.

What about writing from people who identified as neither male nor female?

Gender fluidity was a new enough concept that most people who currently identified as non-binary had been raised as either one gender or another and their writing patterns had been set to track as either one or the other, though statistically they fell into a grayer area, as it were.

“Purpler, if you want to go with stereotypes,” Sanha said. “I was lazy and had the algorithm spit out results for males in blue and females in red.”

Bin clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “That is lazy.”

“Yes, but if I’m tired I want to be able to glance at the laptop and know what the results are immediately, not to have to stop and think about which gender belongs to yellow or green or whatever,” Sanha said.

Bin considered, then said, “Fair enough.”

After supper, Bin did the dishes while Sanha maintained perimeter security and Rocky did some scanning at the computer, though he was noticeably slower at it than Bin and Sanha were.

Bin said, with some fondness, “Rocky’s like an old uncle when it comes to technology.”

“I’m good enough to keep our clients alive,” Rocky said shortly.

There was a certain irony in the robot bodyguard being bad at using technology, Myungjun thought. He asked, “How long will it take you to get everything scanned in?”

“This is a backlog of all your fanmail you’ve received since you started the musical,” Rocky said. “Once it’s all scanned in, scanning in your daily intake of mail will be much faster.”

“Your staff is helping us scan the backlog of mail from back to your debut, what’s been kept over the years,” Bin said.

Myungjun blinked. “Wow. That’s - wow.”

“It’s important to your safety,” Rocky said.

Once the dishes were finished, Bin took over the scanning, and Rocky posed obligingly on the couch for Myungjun to draw until Myungjun was ready to sleep.

Of course, Rocky swept Myungjun’s bedroom for threats and then turned down the sheets and turned on the air purifier.

“What, not going to tuck me in?” Myungjun asked, climbing under the covers.

“Good night, Myungjun-ssi,” Rocky said, and then he turned out the light and closed the door.

Myungjun lay there in the darkness, staring at nothing until his eyes adjusted, and then he could see the faint glow underneath the door. His bodyguards would probably work late into the night.

Only a few moments later, the glow went out, and he realized.

Rocky was sleeping just outside the door.

Myungjun closed his eyes and almost felt safe, and eventually he fell asleep.

* * *

The next couple of days passed in an odd semi-domestic haze. Rocky cooked for Myungjun and coddled him while the other two scanned things, researched things, spoke on the phone to Jinwoo, theater staff, and various police detectives. Rocky posed for Myungjun to draw, and he kept an eye on the perimeter.

Myungjun’s teammates texted him and pestered him to make sure he was all right. Hoetaek made Myungjun send him pictures of every meal he ate to make sure he was eating right. Jinwoo texted him to keep him updated about what was going on with the interview schedule and to make sure he stayed off of SNS. Eunwoo and various other cast members texted to tell him they missed him and keep him updated on how the play was doing. Myungjun’s mother called him and insisted he turn on the video chat and show her around his new dorm. He avoided showing her his security team, insisting it was protocol, but mostly because he didn’t want to invade their privacy. 

For two days, nothing felt real. Myungjun drew and listened to music and watched dramas and played video games and felt...unmoored. It was like a vacation, except he didn’t go outside, and he didn’t order food, and there were three strangers in the house who only half interacted with him.

Finally, Myungjun was allowed off of house arrest. Bin escorted him to the hospital for his check-up with Dr. Park. Myungjun was honest about how he was feeling: better than before, but still easily short of breath, and if he exerted himself too much he devolved into a coughing fit, and his chest hurt, and he was still unable to sing or dance as required by the musical or the trot team.

Dr. Park checked his throat, listened to his lungs, checked his pulse and oxygen levels. “Give it another week. If you’re not back to your regular self by then, we’ll see about doing some scans.”

Myungjun nodded. Another full week out of commission? That would be quite the burden on Seungmin, as well as on his teammates. Even though they weren’t in the middle of active comeback promotions, there was still a lot for them to do. It was the middle of the summer growing season, and there were plenty of countryside summer harvest growing festivals for them to appear at. Fall was, naturally, a busier season for them, which was why they tended not to have comebacks in the fall, but Myungjun felt bad about letting his team down.

After the visit to the doctor, Bin escorted Myungjun back to the apartment, where he was supposed to rest for a couple more days so he’d be strong enough for his big interviews.

Thankfully he wasn’t on house arrest this time, given Dr. Park’s tentative report of his improvement. He was allowed to go on short walks around the neighborhood, usually to the convenience store on the corner and back — always with one of the bodyguards in tow — or he could go up to the roof and get some fresh air and sun.

“The roof is better,” Myungjun said. “The air is cleaner up there, and I can be out there for longer.”

“So far neither stalker has demonstrated the martial skill to make a long-distance kill with a firearm,” Rocky admitted, which totally spoiled the moment when he was handing Myungjun a plate of prettily-cut fruit.

He’d managed to make the apples look like bunnies, but he’d cut the melons into stars and hearts and other cute shapes, and even used toothpicks to pin the blueberries onto the orange segments to make them look like eyes, so the oranges looked sort of like smiley faces.

Myungjun scowled up at him. “You know, I was almost having a good time. I’d almost forgotten that my life was crazy, and then you had to go and say that.”

“Apologies, Myungjun-ssi,” Rocky said, unfolding a dinner tray and setting it beside Myungjun’s elbow like a trained waiter at a fancy restaurant. “I’m supposed to be aware that your life is crazy at all times.”

Myungjun sighed and ate one of the orange-and-blueberry smiley faces. It tasted pretty good.

Then he said, “Sit still for me. I want to draw you.”

“Apologies, Myungjun-ssi. Where we’re outdoors, I must remain mobile. Perhaps the challenge of drawing a subject in motion will be more diverting for you anyway.” Rocky set a pitcher of ice water and a tall glass beside the plate of fruit, and then he began pacing the perimeter of the roof, calm but alert.

Myungjun flipped open his sketchbook to a clean page.

Rocky wasn’t wrong. It would be more of a challenge, to try to capture the essence of Rocky in motion. Already Myungjun had memorized the shape of Rocky’s eyes, the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw, his dimples on the rare occasions when he truly smiled. But the lean muscles of his thighs as he prowled the edges of the roof, the almost delicate flick of his wrists as he tugged his sleeves up to his elbows, the tilt of his chin as he surveyed the rooftops around them — those would be harder to capture.

Being on the roof was freeing. When was the last time Myungjun had been allowed to just enjoy the sunlight? He couldn’t remember. He was supposed to keep himself pretty and pale. He’d been careful to put on heavy sunscreen before he came out.

But now he was focused on Rocky, just as Rocky was focused outward, on everything but Myungjun.

Myungjun raised his knees, propped his sketchpad on them, and leaned in, set to work.

He could do this, could capture the leashed energy in the man who seemed otherwise so exanimate, like a robot, but who was actually — 

Myungjun’s lungs tightened, and his throat burned. He burst into a fit of coughing and lunged for the water pitcher.

Rocky was at his side in an instant, pouring him a glass, handing it to him, smoothing a hand up and down his back and letting him get himself under control, still keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“You all right?” he asked, once Myungjun had drunk and cleared his throat a few times.

“Yeah,” Myungjun said. “I just — I was sitting hunched over too much, I think.”

Rocky gently plucked the sketchbook off of Myungjun’s lap. “Close your eyes and rest. Rest your hands, too.”

“But what if I want to eat more fruit?” Myungjun asked.

“What do you want to eat next?” Rocky asked, reaching toward the plate.

Myungjun laughed. “What, are you going to feed me?”

“You exerted yourself too much. You’re still in recovery,” Rocky said. He picked up a heart-shaped piece of watermelon. “Eat up.”

Myungjun blinked at him.

Rocky held the melon out.

Myungjun leaned in and nibbled it tentatively out of his fingers. Then he said, “Shouldn’t you be watching our perimeter?”

“How are you feeling?” Rocky asked.

“Better,” Myungjun said. “I think I’ll just close my eyes and rest now.”

“All right. Let me know when you want to go back inside.” Rocky rose up and continued walking the perimeter.

Myungjun peeked at Rocky from beneath his lashes. Sometimes Rocky was definitely a robot, and other times — other times he was the kindest and sweetest of all three bodyguards. How did that work?

It made being stuck at home and away from everyone and everything more bearable, at any rate. Because for two days, Myungjun had to take his medicine, rest, do his best to heal up — as if he could consciously make his body repair itself — and watch Rocky, Bin, and Sanha wade through fanmail, pore over his SNS, and scrutinize the security footage from the trot festival over and over again. And he had to prepare himself to go meet with police and do his interview with the news show. Technically his interview with the news show would be him easing back into a light schedule after another brief check-up with Dr. Park, but really it was part of the plan to catch the anti stalker, to goad him into making a mistake — using Myungjun and everyone around him as bait.

The small kindnesses from Rocky made the cloying sense of helplessness abate a little. Even if he was just bait, they weren’t treating him like he was just bait. He was a person. Someone cared about him enough to make him his favorite meals and sit still to be a subject for a drawing or drape a blanket over him when he fell asleep on the sofa while he tried to catch up on missed dramas.

Every time Rocky offered Myungjun one of those small extra gestures — like cutting apple slices into rabbit shapes again for an afternoon snack — Myungjun could pretend, for at least a moment, that he wasn’t just bait headed for the slaughter, and he could relax and try to recuperate and tell himself that he wasn’t dreading his next check-up with Dr. Park and all that would come after it.

* * *

After the check-up with Dr. Park, Bin escorted Myungjun to the salon so he could get made up before he headed to the police station to talk to them about the bouquet attack. He’d go straight to the broadcasting station for his news interview to talk about the stalking incidents in general, and then back to the apartment.

“Rocky will take over before the police station,” Bin said.

“Why Rocky?” Myungjun asked. “I thought you had the day shift?”

“He’s less conspicuous,” Bin said. “Plus the stalkers already know what he looks like. In order to maintain an advantage over them, it’s best if they don’t know me and Sanha yet.”

Myungjun nodded. That made sense, but it also seemed like they were exposing Rocky to the most danger.

However, sometime while Myungjun closed his eyes and dozed during the hair styling process, Bin disappeared and Rocky replaced him, because when Myungjun opened his eyes to check how he looked, Rocky was standing beside him, looking startlingly handsome in a black turtleneck and black slacks.

In all black, he should have looked sleek and dangerous, like the bodyguard he was. Instead he looked incredibly beautiful.

“Are you ready, Myungjun-ssi?” Rocky asked.

The stylists, who’d been working with Myungjun and his teammates for a long time, cast Rocky a wary look.

“I need to change into an appropriate outfit,” Myungjun said.

Rocky nodded. Of course, he followed Myungjun to the dressing room where another one of his stylists from the company had dropped off an outfit for him to wear, one that was smart and professional-looking, all dark and subdued colors but that was cut to make him look slender and stunning, with accessories to match.

“I’ll need to check it over before you put it on, since it came from outside,” Rocky said, and once again he had a little wand to wave over it.

Myungjun snorted. “What, has one of you been doing my laundry as well?”

Rocky nodded. “Of course. We check your stage costumes for needles and contact poisons.”

Myungjun stared at him.

Rocky said, “You’re about to go to the police station because someone tried to poison you with a bouquet.”

“Right.” Myungjun sighed and let Rocky continue his inspection of the clothes.

Rocky checked all the hems for needles sewn in, used a pair of gloves to check for contact poison, and only then did he permit Myungjun to change into the clothes. While Myungjun changed into the clothes, Rocky checked the shoes and accessories.

“Well, how do I look?” Myungjun asked. 

Rocky looked him over and said, “Beautiful.”

Myungjun rocked back on his heels, startled by the sincerity in Rocky’s tone.

Rocky tilted his head. “Do you prefer the term handsome?”

“I _am_ beautiful. I just didn’t think you’d notice,” Myungjun admitted. He reached up and straightened his bracelet compulsively.

“I notice everything,” Rocky said. “It’s necessary for your safety.” He put a hand in the small of Myungjun’s back and ushered him toward the door.

On the way, he bowed to the stylists and thanked them.

“How is my being beautiful necessary for my safety?” Myungjun asked, still unsettled.

Rocky’s gaze was as dark and intense as ever — and just as inscrutable.

“If you are in an environment where everyone is supposed to be beautiful, as actors and idols and artists often are, and someone is not beautiful enough, they are suspicious, and I will put myself between you and them,” Rocky said. 

It sounded perfectly reasonable, but Myungjun still felt something thump oddly in his chest when he thought of the easy way Rocky had called him beautiful.

He guided Myungjun out a side door of the salon that Myungjun had never seen before — probably a delivery door or a staff door — and to a car that Myungjun had also never seen before.

The drive to the police station was slow, full of turns and back-tracking and a rather circuitous route, with little conversation. Myungjun studied Rocky as he drove. How old _was_ Rocky? On first impression, Rocky had seemed older, at least Jinwoo’s age, but then Rocky called Bin hyung and Bin called Jinwoo hyung, so Rocky had to be at least two years younger than Jinwoo, which made him at least four years younger than Myungjun.

At the police station, Rocky once again escorted Myungjun in a side door, one that the police officers used to bring suspects in for booking. At first the uniformed officers were surprised when Rocky whisked Myungjun through the door and into the bullpen where there was a lot of noise and chaos and a man in handcuffs was shouting for a lawyer and trying to avoid having his fingerprints taken. More than one of the police officers recognized Rocky, however, nodded in silent acknowledgment, and let Rocky continue on his way, Myungjun tucked against his side like a disobedient child being dragged to the principal’s office — or a very cozy date.

Rocky knocked on the door of one Detective Seo Panseok, who granted them permission to enter with a murmur.

“Ah, Rocky-ssi, Dalkong-ssi said you’d be by with your latest client.” Detective Seo was tall and lean, in his forties, tan, with a serious face and round eyes. He rose and bowed, greeted them.

Rocky bowed politely. “Detective, this is Kim Myungjun.”

Myungjun bowed. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

Four more people were gathered in the office: an older, stockier man, a younger man with spectacles, a woman, and a very handsome young man in a leather jacket. 

“This is the rest of my team — Lee Eungdo, my partner; and my junior detectives Ji Gook, Eo Soosun, and Eun Daegu,” Detective Seo said.

They all stood and bowed and further introductions were made.

“Ddana-ssi sent over the file with your current investigation notes,” Detective Seo said. “But we’d like to hear your account of what happened, and any other information you have. There could be details you’ve noticed that are relevant that you may not realize are important.”

He gestured for Myungjun to sit in the comfortable chair opposite his desk. Rocky remained standing beside him.

Ji Gook was dispatched for drinks and snacks. Myungjun accepted a bottle of water and a little packet of vanilla wafers. No one looked at all offended when Rocky tested them first; Eo Soosun looked very sad and sympathetic and patted Myungjun on the hand.

Everyone was poised to take notes — Eo Soosun by hand; Ji Gook on his laptop; Eun Daegu with a recorder.

“Where should I start?” Myungjun asked.

“Let’s start with the incident with the bouquet,” Detective Seo said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Just start at the beginning. Tell us everything from the moment you got the bouquet till the moment you passed out,” Detective Seo said. “If we need clarification we’ll ask follow-up questions, but just tell us what you can.”

Myungjun took another swallow of water, then glanced at Rocky. “I honestly don’t remember much, but here goes.”

He did his best to recount the event, how the event staff person brought him flowers, and he’d sniffed them and then started to cough, and then Rocky carried him outside to the ambulance, and then he woke up in the hospital.

“You thought the bouquet looked odd, though? How so?” Lee Eungdo asked.

“Mostly because it was so gothic-looking,” Myungjun said. “My team has a very bright and sweet image, and on my team I’m the happy virus and vitamin and sunshine, so a gothic-themed bouquet seemed a bit...strange? It was very pretty, but it wasn’t really my style.”

“Your instincts were working even then,” Ji Gook said.

“Everything about the bouquet was a death threat,” Eun Daegu murmured. He had pictures of the bouquet on a tablet, was flipping through them. He glanced at Rocky. “That was quick thinking, preserving the bouquet like that.”

Rocky inclined his head politely. “My first priority was protecting Myungjun-ssi, and being able to identify the toxin that poisoned him was important to saving him, and having a sample of it was necessary.”

“You’re like a robot,” Ji Gook said.

Eo Soosun slapped him on the arm.

Detective Seo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Rocky didn’t look at all offended.

Myungjun said, “I remember when I sniffed the bouquet, I noticed the scent seemed wrong. Like it wasn’t the scent I expected given the flowers in the bouquet. And then I couldn’t breathe and I thought I was dying, and that was pretty much all I could think about.”

Detective Seo nodded. “Understandably. Now, let’s go back before that.”

“How far back?” Myungjun asked.

“Far back, to your early years, as a trainee, or even right after your debut. Did anything happen that seemed creepy or strange? Was there anyone who stood out to you ever while you were out and about? Or did you ever just get that weird feeling between your shoulders, like someone was watching you?” Detective Seo asked.

Myungjun sighed. “I don’t think you understand. I was a trainee. I mean, yes, I sing trot, but they trained us the same as any other idols, and Hyeokjin and Hoetaek were in actual idol groups before they joined our team. I started training after high school, so I wasn’t subject to the same scrutiny as Jinook was before debut when he was in school and the other students knew he was what amounted to an idol trainee, but I feel like someone is watching me _all the time._ Unless I’m wearing a mask and a hat and big glasses — and sometimes even then — I have to assume someone is watching me and has recognized me and I have to be on my best behavior. Even if it’s my day off and I have no schedule and I’m not wearing any makeup and I’m practically wearing my pajamas and I just rolled out of bed and went to the convenience store at the end of the street for a cup of coffee.”

“But surely you’ve felt the difference between someone when is just watching you because you’re famous and that _creepy_ stare,” Eo Soosun said. “You know, like the creepy ahjusshi on the train who’s probably going to try to get a creep shot up your uniform skirt or whatever.”

All the men in the room — save Rocky — stared at her.

She sighed. “The world is different for you.”

Only Myungjun said, “Well, I do sort of know. There was this one trainee manager who we all knew to stay away from, especially when he was drunk. He’d get handsy with the trainees, male or female. He got fired about a year into my training, and we were all glad to see him go.”

“Do you remember his name?” Detective Seo asked.

Myungjun frowned. “You think one of my stalkers could be him, out for revenge?”

Ji Gook said, “I can reach out to the company and find out who their past employees are.”

“Do it,” Lee Eungdo said.

“Maybe think a bit more recently,” Eun Daegu said. “Think of fan events. Have there been any fans who’ve stood out by being especially aggressive or flirty?”

“Or shy,” Rocky said. “Cripplingly shy. What they can’t say to you in person they’ll say with a grandiose and dangerous gesture.”

“Rocky-ssi makes a good point,” Detective Seo said.

Myungjun hummed to himself. “Let me think.”

The interview continued on in that vein for several hours. They questioned him about fan events, concerts, festivals, music producers for recent albums, music video shoots, music broadcast show shoots, photo shoots, and of course all the cast and crew for the musical. Myungjun was given another bottle of water and another snack, which were again tested by Rocky.

By the end of it, he was pretty wrung out, but Detective Seo and his team had some information to work with, information they promised to share with Rocky and his teammates.

They thanked Myungjun and sent him on his way.

“You have time for lunch before your interview at the news program,” Rocky said.

“Just something small.” Myungjun leaned carefully against the window and closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Some kimbap?”

“Sure.”

“I made some earlier. It’s in a little lunchbox in the back seat. You can eat at the broadcasting station. That’ll be safer and more secure than a restaurant,” Rocky said.

Myungjun nodded. He opened one eye and peered at Rocky, who still looked like a terribly fashionable PA in that sleek black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Could he possibly be hiding weapons under that thing?

“How come you and the others never questioned me like that?”

“We’re bodyguards, not detectives,” Rocky said.

“But you can build and run algorithms to check for stalkers on my SNS accounts,” Myungjun said.

Rocky inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Sanha is intelligent and skilled.”

“You figured out I have two stalkers and built profiles of them.”

“Bin-hyung is also intelligent and skilled.”

Myungjun eyed Rocky. “Then what are you good at?”

“Protecting people with my body. I’m a bodyguard.” Rocky guided the car smoothly into traffic. “Also I’m good at cooking.”

“True,” Myungjun conceded. He was looking forward to that homemade kimbap.

* * *

At the broadcasting station, a slender, harried-looking PD in a black uniform with a fancy-looking headset met them at the front desk where they checked in.

“This way, Kim Myungjun-ssi. Shin Segye-ssi would like to review the interview questions with you beforehand,” she said. “Your PA can wait in the green room.”

Rocky said, calmly, “Myungjun-ssi hasn’t had lunch yet. Perhaps Segye-ssi would be willing to join Myungjun-ssi for lunch? So there’s no delay.”

The PD tapped her headset, then eyed Rocky. “We can provide lunch for Myungjun-ssi. Where would you like to order from?”

Rocky held up the little lunchbox he’d brought from the dorm. “Myungjun-ssi brought lunch from home, but of course Segye-ssi is welcome to order from wherever she likes.”

The PD said, “Let’s head up to the green room and get started on those questions as soon as possible.” She eyed Myungjun up and down as she led them to the elevator. “You probably only need a minor touch-up before you go on camera.”

“I went to the shop earlier today,” Myungjun said, “since I knew I was coming here.”

As soon as they were up on the set of the news broadcasting show, the PD bustled down the hall.

“Your green room is here. Your PA can wait here. Segye-ssi’s green room is down this way,” the PD said.

Rocky said, firmly, “I’m his bodyguard, not his PA, and I won’t be leaving his side.”

The PD blinked, looked him up and down. “O-oh. But —”

Myungjun intervened with a sweet smile. “He’s very insistent. My company pays him, so he takes orders from them. He does what they say, not what I say. He taste-tests my food and everything in case I get poisoned. I mean, I almost died from sniffing a bouquet, so, who knows how someone will try to kill me next?”

The PD blinked again. “Right. Of course, Myungjun-ssi, Guard-ssi, this way.”

Rocky herded Myungjun down the hallway to Shin Segye’s green room where she’d just got done being made up by a team of stylists.

She looked stunning and also very professional in a sleek dress suit, her hair swept up in a neat French twist. A string of pearls gleamed at her throat and only made her teeth look whiter.

Myungjun bowed and greeted her; Rocky bowed as well.

Even though idol groups tended not to be on serious news programs, Myungjun and his team had been on Segye’s news program once before, on account of being treated as a novelty on debut but sparking surprising interest in the trot genre among the younger generation on account of their good looks and Hoetaek and Hyeokjin bringing some of their idol fanbase with them, and Segye, a long-time trot fan, had treated them to a serious interview.

“Myungjun-ssi, it’s been too long,” Segye said, gesturing for Myungjun to sit opposite her.

Rocky moved to stand beside her.

“Apologies, sunbaenim,” Myungjun said. “But I am glad to be in your lovely presence again.”

“If only it were under better circumstances. Let’s eat while we work.” Segye’s smile was radiant without being simpering; she was an intelligent woman whose news stories had brought some major chaebol corporations to their knees. “Where would you like to order from?”

The PD cleared her throat, but Myungjun just held up his little lunchbox. 

“I brought some homemade kimbap.”

“Ah, you young stars are so health-conscious. I approve.” Segye smiled. “If only I were more skilled in the kitchen. Did you make it yourself?”

The PD handed her a menu.

Segye scanned it briefly, tapped several selections, handed it back.

“My bodyguard makes my food. That way he can ensure it’s not poisoned,” Myungjun said.

Segye flicked a glance at Rocky. “Your bodyguard?”

“My company hired extra security for me after a stalker attacked my team’s dorm,” Myungjun said. “It’s thanks to my bodyguard that I’m here speaking to you today, after the very bold attack at the trot festival several days ago.”

Segye nodded. “Well, I’m grateful that your company is taking your safety seriously, and I’m sure your fans are as well. I understand you’ve spoken to the police, then?”

“We came straight from the police station.”

“Let’s review the questions, just so we both have a feel for what to expect before we’re live in front of the cameras,” Segye said.

The PD handed her some cue cards. Myungjun could see that the questions on them were handwritten, had crossings-out and notations scribbled in. Shin Segye did research for her interviews herself and put a lot of thought into them, and Myungjun appreciated that.

“Are you ready?” Segye asked.

Myungjun nodded. “Ready.”

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Myungjun could be calm and serious. Under the bright lights of the television studio, in front of the cameras, opposite and professional and inquisitive Segye, Myungjun kept his hands in his lap, held still, and was almost demure as he answered her questions. 

He did as Bin and Jinwoo had instructed and kept the focus off of himself as much as possible, and he didn’t mention the second stalker at all, the one who was in love with him. He only talked about the anti-stalker, the one who’d attacked his dorm and attacked him at the festival.

“Are you afraid?” Segye asked.

Myungjun lifted his chin. Even though he wasn’t wearing the plethora of accessories he donned for a stage performance, he didn’t look plain; he knew he looked just as stunning as Segye without upstaging her. The makeup and hair stylists had cooed over him while they gave him a last-minute touch-up before he went on camera, telling him how small his face was and how smooth and pale his skin was and how young he looked. Of course, like the trained performer he was, he deflected their compliments and asked them to help him look more handsome, for Segye’s sake.

“I am cautious, of course, because this stalker has demonstrated that he doesn’t care about who he hurts in his efforts to get to me, and I don’t want the people around me to be hurt.” Myungjun lifted his chin and met Segye’s gaze squarely. “But I’m not afraid.”

“But this stalker wants to kill you. He’s made an attempt on your life.” Segye furrowed her brow, radiating almost motherly concern.

Myungjun let his gaze go distant. “It’s not really about me. This stalker is just a symptom of the broader antipathy against the queer community in this country. I’m just an actor doing my job. At the end of the day I take off my costume and clean off my makeup and go home and get back to my regular job. I’m a trot singer. But the hatred the stalker is directing at me — it’s not at _me,_ Kim Myungjun. It’s directed at the people that the character I’m playing represents.” Then he looked at the camera. “And I can’t help but wonder if some of the hatred isn’t a little internalized. If he hates himself as much as he hates me, and people like the character I play.”

Segye nodded. “You’ve received a lot of criticism for the characters you play who are sexual minorities. A lot of men in your position might be afraid to play such characters, but you’ve been willing to play them ㅡ despite the criticism and now threats on your life — that you’ve received. Why do you keep going forward?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to be afraid to be those characters any more than people should have to be afraid to be themselves in real life,” Myungjun said. “That’s easier for me to say right now while I’m working with the police to catch this dangerous individual who’s threatened not only me but also my teammates and staff at my dorm and also at an event venue, but I stand by it.”

Segye leaned in. “Is there anything you want to see to your fans?”

Myungjun looked at the camera. “I will continue to work hard and do my best both for my team and in the musical. I am cooperating with the proper authorities to make sure that this criminal is brought to justice, for the protection of my team and staff.”

“And is there anything you want to say to the stalker?”

Myungjun shook his head. “No. There’s nothing to say to someone who cares so little for the safety and dignity of other human beings.”

Segye reached out, patted Myungjun’s hand. “It seems only yesterday that you were here, a little rookie sprout with your teammates, eager to take on the world. You’ve come a long way, both as a performer and a person, and I look forward to seeing where you go.”

“Thank you for taking the time to have me here, humble little me.” Myungjun ducked his head, smiled demurely.

“I’m always glad to see you, even if today is under such circumstances.” Segye turned to the camera and offered closing comments about stalkers and idol culture and statistics about discrimination and violence against sexual minorities, and then the broadcast ended.

As soon as the red light on the camera winked out, Segye stood, so Myungjun rose as well, bowed to her, thanked the staff and crew.

Rocky was at his side in an instant, handing him a bottle of water and what looked like a couple of red bean steam buns.

“You did well,” he said quietly, one hand in the small of Myungjun’s back, warm and reassuring and firm.

“Well as in I spoke well and was poised and professional or well as in the stalker will soon hunt me down and try to kill me for real?” Myungjun asked in a low voice.

“He’s already tried to kill you for real,” Rocky reminded him. He added, almost absently, “I won’t let him.”

There was a certainty to his tone that made Myungjun’s chest tighten. Rocky hadn’t sounded like a professional trying to reassure and placate a customer; he’d sounded fervent, like he was making a promise.

“Thank you for being here today,” Segye said to Myungjun.

Rocky immediately melted into a blind spot in Myungjun’s peripheral vision just behind his left shoulder.

“One of my cousins is gay,” Segye said softly. “She tried to take her own life, so. This means a lot to me.”

Myungjun could neither confirm nor deny his own alternative sexuality, so he said, “Anything for you. You’ve always been kind to me and my team.”

Segye looked at Rocky and said, “Protect him.”

“With my life,” Rocky said simply.

Segye looked startled, but then she nodded, and Rocky bowed and said, “We should return to the dorm now.”

The PD who’d initially thought Rocky was an ordinary PA showed them to a side door, and Rocky ushered Myungjun out of the building and to the car.

“Do you want to get more food before we go back to the dorm? We could buy food or I could buy ingredients to cook you something special,” Rocky said. “An impromptu trip to the grocery store is only a medium security risk.”

Myungjun buckled himself into the passenger seat. “We can go straight home. I’ll just rest.”

He closed his eyes and tipped his head against the window.

He expected to feel the car pull out of the parking garage and ascend to street level, but instead he heard clothes rustling.

He opened his eyes — and saw that Rocky had found a jacket in the back seat and folded it up, was leaning across the front seats to try to slip the jacket under Myungjun’s head to use as a pillow.

“Why do you pamper me so much?” Myungjun asked.

Rocky froze for a moment — he had excellent muscle control — then handed the improvised pillow to Myungjun, who accepted it, because he wasn’t about to turn down some extra comfort.

“Your comfort is important to your safety,” Rocky said, and guided the car out of the parking spot, checking his mirrors diligently. “If you’re comfortable, you’re relaxed, and you’re not too jumpy and prone to rash behavior, will listen to me and my teammates, and your health will generally be good. You’ll sleep better, and your body won’t be tense and sore.”

Myungjun stared at him. “So _everything_ you do for me is for my safety.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“Would you _kiss_ me if it was for my safety?”

“Of course.” Rocky didn’t even hesitate.

Myungjun couldn’t help it. He said, “You really _are_ a robot.”

“You know how some people are police officers, protect the public and justice with their lives? Or some people are soldiers, and they protect the country with their lives,” Rocky said.

Myungjun nodded hesitantly.

“I protect you,” Rocky said. “The same way.”

“Only because you’re paid to.”

“That police officers and soldiers are paid to do their jobs doesn’t cheapen their commitment and sacrifice,” Rocky said.

“Wow. Look at you, finally saying so much,” Myungjun said, going for some levity, because he was shaken by the intensity in Rocky’s voice.

How was Myungjun on par with justice or the security of the entire country? Instead of trying to puzzle it out, he closed his eyes and dozed.

He woke when the light behind his eyelids changed, signaled that they were in the parking garage at the dorm. 

Myungjun feigned grogginess as they headed for the elevators, studied Rocky from beneath his lashes, the lean lines of his body beneath that black turtleneck sweater and those sleek black slacks. Something about the way Rocky kept the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was strange and familiar. Shouldn’t he keep the sleeves rolled down to conceal any weapons?

Where _was_ he hiding his weapons?

Rocky didn’t waver from his routine an iota, checking the foyer before letting Myungjun in to press the button for the elevator, checking the elevator car, then the hallway.

That he didn’t check the apartment meant the other two were already there.

Rocky stood behind Myungjun, watching his back as Myungjun input the door code and opened the door.

“I’m back,” Myungjun said, kicking off his shoes.

Sanha shouted, “It’s contact poison! Get clear!”

Bin leaped away from Sanha, who was holding what looked like an ordinary piece of fan mail, bright with stickers and cute handwriting. Sanha dashed for the kitchenette.

Rocky reacted without a word, spun and pinned Myungjun against the wall with his body, shielding him.

Myungjun stretched up on his toes and peered over Rocky’s shoulder and saw Sanha dump the letter in the sink.

Sanha yelped and backpedaled rapidly.

Smoke billowed up from the sink.

Bin yanked his shirt up over his nose and mouth.

Sanha did the same.

Rocky whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and thrust it at Myungjun, yanked the collar of his turtleneck up to cover his own nose and mouth.

“Turn on the cooking vent!” Bin shouted, voice muffled.

Sanha was wearing rubber gloves. He fumbled for the cooking vent, but it wasn’t close enough to the sink to be any use.

Rocky kept Myungjun pinned to the wall, but he twisted and shouted over his shoulder, “Neutralize it!”

Sanha shouted back, “Got it!” He tore through the kitchen cupboards, and there was an explosion of baking soda, another billow of smoke, swearing, the acrid scent of vinegar, and the smoke began to dissipate.

Myungjun’s throat tightened, and he started to cough behind the handkerchief.

Bin dashed across the apartment and flung open one of the windows. “Get him into the bedroom and turn on the air purifier and wait.”

Rocky nodded, gathered Myungjun into his arms, and hustled him into the bedroom. He deposited Myungjun on the bed beside the nightstand, flipped on the air purifier, and then did a security check of the room, scanning for threats and any new bugs or cameras.

“What was that back there?”

“Booby-trapped fanmail, from the looks of it,” Rocky said. “The other two have it under control now. They’re just airing out the apartment to protect your lungs and throat from irritation while you’re still healing.”

“I thought the whole point of me moving here was that the stalker wouldn’t find me here.” Myungjun blinked rapidly, coughed into the handkerchief. The coughing was making his eyes water.

Rocky sat beside him, smoothed a hand up and down his back. “He doesn’t know where you live. Your staff directs your mail here, remember? At least here, the three of us could contain the letter before anyone else touched it, and no one else was affected by the smoke and residue.”

Myungjun imagined Jinook and Hyungseok panicking as smoke filled the room, Hyeokjin and Hoetaek trying to make the smoke go away but neither of them knowing what to do because they’d sold their childhoods to their idol training and wouldn’t know how to neutralize any kind of chemical. Would all of them have been poisoned?

In front of the cameras in Segye’s studio, Myungjun had said he wasn’t scared, but here he was trapped in his own room in his own apartment separate from his teammates because some psycho had just tried to poison him with a fan letter — a cutely decorated one, from the looks of it, one he’d have definitely stopped to read — and Myungjun wasn’t scared but he was just _so done._

Rocky was still sitting beside him, but he was as alert as ever, scanning the room and waiting for further instructions for his teammates. Even though the notion of Myungjun being attacked in his own room seemed ridiculous, he’d been attacked with a bunch of flowers and now a fan letter, so Rocky’s alertness wasn’t so silly.

But he still looked so handsome.

Myungjun lowered the handkerchief and studied Rocky. He said, “You said you’d kiss me if it was important to my safety, right?”

“For a distraction or something in the field, in exigent circumstances, of course,” Rocky said, eyeing Myungjun’s bookshelves like a masked bomber might spring out of them at any moment.

“You said my comfort is important for my safety as well, right?”

Rocky nodded, turning his attention to the windows.

“What if I wanted you to kiss me because I wanted some emotional comfort?” Myungjun asked.

Rocky turned to him, startled.

So, even the robot could be surprised.

Myungjun reached out, fisted his hands in the soft fabric of Rocky’s sweater, hauled him close, and kissed him.

In dramas, surprise kisses were terribly awkward affairs, a sudden press of lips, one person’s eyes open. Myungjun closed his eyes and just let himself feel before Rocky inevitably shoved him away.

Only Rocky kissed him back, brushed his lips against Myungjun’s over and over again, feather-light and soft and warm.

Myungjun groaned and tugged on that damned sweater, rucking up the fabric and getting a hand under so he could feel Rocky’s skin, and Rocky was all smooth warm skin over steel-hard muscle. When Myungjun pushed, Rocky fell back onto the bed, and when Myungjun climbed on top of him, Rocky surrendered. When Myungjun nuzzled aside the collar of that sweater and nibbled on his throat, Rocky closed his eyes and hummed happily, and Myungjun couldn’t help but kiss him again, working his hands up under his sweater and petting Rocky’s skin.

The door opened, and Bin said, “All clear — _what_ the hell is going on here?”

Myungjun immediately scrambled off of Rocky, who sat up in a single fluid motion, hand smoothing down his sweater and hair.

“It’s my fault,” Myungjun said. “I just sort of — jumped on him.”

“Rocky can kill a man with his bare hands,” Bin said. “Don’t think for one second that you overpowered him.”

Rocky was on his feet and in front of Bin, his head bowed. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Bin was utterly still, his expression stony. “You know the rules. Client safety comes first.”

Rocky said nothing.

“You weren’t looking out for him, weren’t keeping an eye on the perimeter while Sanha and I were dealing with an extraordinary threat. This whole time — is that why he managed to breathe in the poison from the bouquet? Because you’ve been distracted by him? Has his life been in extra danger because you’ve been distracted by him?” Bin’s tone was icy.

Rocky said, “No, hyung.”

Bin grabbed Rocky’s shoulder and hauled him out into the main room.

Myungjun followed, heart pounding.

The kitchen was a mess of baking soda and sodden paper, and Sanha looked very frazzled, but otherwise the situation seemed to be under control. The windows were open and fans were blowing and the air purifier was running on high right next to the kitchen sink.

“What’s going on?” Sanha asked, immediately sensing the tension in the air.

“Rocky’s compromised,” Bin said. “Code Sixteen violation.”

Sanha’s eyes went wide. “What? Rocky-hyung? No way.”

“I caught him kissing Myungjun-ssi.”

Sanha’s eyes went even wider. “Hyung?” he demanded of Rocky, who didn’t meet his gaze.

“What should we do?” Sanha asked Bin. “If Rocky’s actually compromised, protocol dictates he be removed and replaced.”

“Yes, but Rocky’s the one who the stalker has seen, and if we have staff turnover now, that’s institutional knowledge and operational integrity that’s compromised.” Bin scrubbed a hand over his face. He growled at Rocky. _“Yah!”_

Myungjun flinched. Bin wouldn’t slap Rocky, would he? No, that sort of thing only happened in dramas, and they were men. Soldiers. Bin wouldn’t _punch_ Rocky, would he?

“Well, if nothing else we can keep Rocky on as extra bait,” Bin said. “Get on the phone, call — call Kangjoon and get him on backup.”

Rocky said, “I’m not compromised. It’ll be fine. Myungjun-ssi won’t end up like Eunbi.”

Bin backhanded Rocky.

Sanha cried out.

Rocky landed on the floor, clutching his jaw.

 _“Don’t_ say her name.” Bin’s eyes flashed. “We have Code Sixteen for a reason.”

“Sorry, hyung.” Rocky pushed himself to his feet. His mouth was bleeding. 

Myungjun started toward him. “Rocky-ssi —”

Only Rocky evaded him and headed for the bathroom, locked the door.

Myungjun heard running water. He turned to Bin.

“It’s all my fault. Don’t be angry at him. I’m just really confused and stressed out.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Bin snapped. “He’s a professional and has a job to do. Did he push you away? No, but he should have.” Bin clawed at the side of his neck and swore. “Sanha! Why aren’t you calling Kangjoon?”

Sanha scrambled for his phone.

Myungjun was an actor. Even when he was frazzled and under pressure, he could perform. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, opened his eyes.

“What was that? With the letter.”

Bin took a deep breath. “Contact poison. The chemical Sanha used to detect the poison reacted with it, and the result was — you saw. By being off of SNS and out of the public eye, your delusional stalker has decompensated, and he’s reached the ‘if I can’t have you, no one can’ stage.” Bin took another deep breath. “You did well at your interview today. The anti stalker will probably start to decompensate as well, make some mistakes.”

In the corner, Sanha was talking in a low, rapid voice, casting nervous looks at Bin.

“Once we identify the substance, that’ll take us one step closer to that stalker’s identity.” Bin took a deep breath. “Listen, in these situations, everyone is very stressed out and nervous, and we are here to protect you, but — don’t mistake that protectiveness for affection. We’re just doing our jobs.”

Myungjun nodded. “I’m sorry I was so unprofessional.” He’d just done the terrible equivalent of taking advantage of the help, hadn’t he? Grabbing Rocky like that.

Only Bin had pointed out that Rocky could have pushed Myungjun away and hadn’t.

“No, you weren’t the one who was unprofessional. You’re dependent on Rocky for your safety, and he knows better.” Bin scrubbed a hand over his face. “In all these years, he’s never wavered, not even a bit — I’m so sorry. We’d replace him immediately, but at this delicate stage in the case, we can’t, so we’ll get backup.”

Myungjun bit his lip. “Could you just...not tell Jinwoo?”

Bin stared at him. “Pardon?”

“At least not till it’s over. I’m so embarrassed that I just threw myself at him like that,” Myungjun said.

Bin eyed Myungjun. Finally he said, “Jinjin-hyung is stressed out enough as it is. I have to put it in the report, but I won’t submit everything till it’s over. But today’s attack will justify the addition of one more team member.”

Sanha said, “Kangjoon’s on his way.”

“Good,” Bin said.

Rocky emerged from the bathroom. He wore black jeans and a black t-shirt. The cut on his lip had stopped bleeding. He met Myungjun’s gaze only briefly, then turned to Sanha.

“I’ll go start some laundry,” he said. He had his clothes bundled in his arms, clutched to his chest like a shield. For the first time, he looked young, younger than Bin, almost as young as Sanha.

Sanha nodded and scampered over to the utility closet where, apparently, he’d been storing everyone’s laundry. He handed the basket to Rocky, who bowed to Bin and then ducked out of the apartment.

Myungjun shut himself in his room, curled up on his bed and stared at the wall.

He could still remember the kiss, how Rocky had tasted, how warm his skin was, how soft his skin was but how hard his muscles were, how Rocky had kissed him back. Bin said Rocky had never acted this way with anyone before, right? Had never wavered with a client. Did that mean Rocky was attracted to Myungjun? Felt something for him? Myungjun was confident about his looks, yes, but if Bin and his security firm were as good as Jinwoo said they were, then they’d probably protected far more important and impressive and beautiful people than Kim Myungjun.

All those times Rocky had been nice to Myungjun, like making food for him or sitting still so Myungjun could draw him, those hadn’t just been professionalism, right? Those had been something extra. No matter what Rocky said, he _had_ been pampering Myungjun a little bit, right?

Myungjun heard voices in the other room, the timbre of a man’s voice he didn’t recognize. That must have been Kangjoon, the new member of the security team, who was replacing Rocky. Was Kangjoon his real name? Probably not. Was he handsome? Probably not.

But then there was a knock on the door, and Sanha said, “Myungjun-ssi, would you like to come meet Kangjoon-ssi?”

Myungjun had to prove to Bin that he wasn’t harboring deeper feelings for Rocky — was he? He didn’t even know Rocky’s real name — so he had to act calm, as calm as could be expected under the circumstances, so he rolled to his feet and opened the door.

“Of course. Thank you.”

Kangjoon was very handsome, Eunwoo-level handsome, tall and broad-shouldered and even-featured. Where did Bin’s agency find their agents? The military? Or were they all entertainment company rejects or something? Some entertainment company somewhere was kicking itself for letting Bin and his teammates go, probably.

Kangjoon wore all black, jeans and a hoodie, same as Sanha and Bin and Rocky, who was diligently folding laundry at the sofa.

“Nice to meet you,” Myungjun said, bowing.

Kangjoon bowed as well. “Nice to meet you as well. Wish it were under better circumstances.” Whether he meant with a crazy stalker who’d tried to kill Myungjun twice or after Myungjun had made out with his bodyguard, Myungjun didn’t know, and he didn’t ask.

“The others have me up to speed, more or less, although I’m sure there’s more I’ll learn as I go. You probably won’t see me so much, since I’ll mostly be behind the scenes. Since Rocky is the one the stalker has seen, he’ll continue to be by your side, but I’ll be here protecting you as well.” Kangjoon smiled politely.

Myungjun nodded. “Thank you.” He carefully did not look over at Rocky.

Kangjoon didn’t look over at Rocky either.

“So, nicotine?” Kangjoon asked.

Sanha nodded. “It’s easy to distill from cigarettes if one has time and patience, and easy to obtain legally. Pure nicotine absorbed through the skin causes spastic paralysis. Had any one of us touched the letter with our bare hands, we’d have suffocated and died.”

Myungjun said, “I’ll leave you to it.” And he went back to his room.

Sanha’s casual discussion about how Myungjun — or any one of them — might have _suffocated to death_ was unnerving, and Myungjun really didn’t think he could handle any more of it. The four of them _being professional_ was just too much. Myungjun wouldn’t have minded if Rocky just stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder. That small comfort would mean a lot, but that would probably never happen again.

Myungjun went back to curl up on his bed, and he closed his eyes.

_There’s a wall in my head…_

* * *

By all appearances, Bin had made good on his promise not to tell Jinwoo about how Myungjun had thrown himself at Rocky like a desperate protagonist in a romance novel, but Bin had told Jinwoo about the attack, so Myungjun was trotted back to the hospital by Rocky (with Kangjoon and Bin tracking from a distance and Sanha tracking digitally) for another checkup even though he hadn’t had any contact with the poison and hadn’t inhaled any of the smoke (thanks to Rocky’s quick thinking, and Sanha and Bin’s quick actions too). After the checkup, Myungjun was sent back to the dorm for further confinement, although he was allowed onto the roof some more.

Another press statement was released, about the anti stalker attacking Myungjun again (even though they all knew it was really the delusional stalker).

He was on the roof, scribbling abstractly in his sketchbook. He’d been trying to draw Rocky from memory, because even though he saw Rocky every minute of every day, Rocky wasn’t _there_ anymore, not like he’d been before. Where Rocky had always been a calm and comforting and solid presence at Myungjun’s side, now he was a ghost, always in the blind spots of Myungjun’s peripheral vision, so Myungjun couldn’t quite see him. When Myungjun was in a crowd, he expected a warm hand in the small of his back or on his shoulder or elbow to guide him, but now Rocky herded him like a sheepdog, close but never quite touching.

Rocky never ate with him anymore either. He still did all the cooking, but he always remained standing at the counter while the others — Kangjoon included — ate at the table with Myungjun. Half the time Rocky wasn’t even angled toward the others to contribute to the conversation; he ate at another counter entirely, bolted down his food and did his dishes before the others finished and was gone, on to another task like laundry or cleaning or the thousand other things that kept Myungjun’s life running that a bodyguard probably didn’t ordinarily do that Rocky did.

There were so many other things he’d done that a bodyguard probably didn’t ordinarily do that had made these past few days more bearable, and now they were gone, and now — 

Now Myungjun was back to see Dr. Park, who cleared him for light duty.

“No dancing,” he said, after he listened to Myungjun’s lungs and had him breathe into what looked like a water pitcher with a ping-pong ball inside it. “If you sing, no belting high notes, okay? Sing children’s songs, or leave the high notes and belts to someone else.”

Myungjun nodded.

“Or just lip-sync,” Dr. Park said.

Myungjun stared at him, appalled.

“I’m a trot singer,” Myungjun said. “I don’t _lip sync.”_

“You’re not ready to be back to the musical yet,” Dr. Park said. “Still, take it easy.” He glanced at Bin and Sanha. “How is he?”

“He is much better,” Bin said, because Rocky said hardly anything these days, hardly looked at Myungjun these days. “He doesn’t really get winded much anymore.”

Dr. Park smiled. “Good.” He clapped Myungjun on the shoulder. “Keep taking care of yourself. Get a lot of rest.”

Myungjun nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”

Next stop was a check-in with Jinwoo and the rest of the team at the company. Sanha and Bin vanished on between the front door and the conference room door, leaving just Rocky to escort Myungjun into the conference room. 

“Hyung!” Jinook cried, lunging out of his chair and catching Myungjun in a hug.

Myungjun hugged him back, patting his hair. “Hey, what’s this? I’m fine.”

“You got attacked again and nearly died!” Jinook wailed.

“I didn’t nearly die,” Myungjun said. “My bodyguards protected me. But this is why I’m living apart from you now.”

Jinook stepped back, looked Myungjun up and down. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ll be able to sing again?”

“I can sing now, just not at full range,” Myungjun said.

Jinook eyed him. “You’re not your usual sunshine-y self.”

“My lung capacity isn’t at a hundred percent. Sunshine needs oxygen,” Myungjun said.

“We need to talk about next week’s schedule,” Hyeokjin said gently.

Hoetaek reached out and tugged the back of Jinook’s jacket, and Jinook let himself be tugged back into his seat.

Myungjun sat down between Hyungseok and Jinwoo.

Rocky took up post right behind Myungjun’s left shoulder, right out of the corner of his eye, and Myungjun kept itching to turn around and look at him to make sure he was there, because Rocky had a way of being so still that he practically disappeared.

“I saw the interview,” Hoetaek said. “You did well. It received a mostly positive response, especially from younger fans, and even a decent number of older fans.”

Jinwoo said, “It had the intended effect.” He pushed an envelope across the table.

Myungjun reached for it, but Rocky picked it up first. He said, “Ah, yes.”

“You’ve already seen it?” Myungjun asked.

“Checked it over for contact poison and other substances this morning,” Rocky said. He handed it to Myungjun.

Myungjun glanced at his teammates, then at Jinwoo. He’d moved out of the dorm to keep them insulated from this whole stalker mess. Why was Jinwoo doing this in front of them? 

“You won’t be scarred for life if you look at it,” Rocky said.

“Are you sure about that?” Myungjun asked. “You and I have very different senses of danger.”

Rocky inclined his head in acknowledgment but didn’t say anything further.

Myungjun sighed and opened the envelope — and swore.

A photo fell out. It was of him in one of his stage costumes from the musical. He’d felt awkward and shy the first time he’d put on the yellow prom dress, but it looked good on him, and he’d learned to move naturally in it over time.

Seeing the photo of himself in the dress with the eyes gouged out and the image splashed with blood made his skin crawl.

“You said I wouldn’t be scarred for life,” he snapped at Rocky.

“It’s paint, not real blood, otherwise it wouldn’t still be red,” Rocky said. “Real blood turns brown as it dries and congeals.”

“That’s comforting,” Jinook said in a shaky voice. “That you’re so familiar with real blood.”

Rocky ducked his chin but didn’t comment further.

Myungjun turned the photo over. The stalker had created a message out of letters cut out from a newspaper and glued together.

_End your perversion or I will end you._

“That’s cliché,” Myungjun muttered.

“It’s your anti-stalker,” Jinwoo said. “Dalkong-ssi and Ddana-ssi confirmed it.”

“Will you still be doing the musical?” Hyungseok asked.

“I’m not quitting the musical,” Myungjun said. “I’m not letting him win.”

Hyungseok ducked his chin, looking distressed.

Hoetaek said, “Are you healthy enough to do the musical?”

“Dr. Park says I’ll be ready next week.” Myungjun lifted his chin and smiled.

Jinwoo cast Rocky a look.

Myungjun resisted the urge to twist around and glare at Rocky if Rocky sold him out.

“Myungjun-ssi is correct. He is able to sing now, but not strenuously, and not while dancing. As long as he continues to rest well and recover well, he should be able to return to performing as normal after next week,” Rocky said.

Jinwoo looked at Myungjun’s teammates. “Next week Myungjun will be back with you for promos and the small performances we have lined up, but he’ll be sitting out the group numbers and just be singing some slow solos, okay? He can do interviews but no variety show games.”

The others nodded.

“Rocky will be with you at all times,” Jinwoo said. “He will look like a PA but like last time he’ll stick with Myungjun and favor him. Let him. Don’t order him around like a PA. Don’t refer to him as a bodyguard. Don’t distract him. Understood?”

The others nodded again.

“Myungjun is going to be on a special diet to aid in his healing, which means all home-cooked food,” Jinwoo continued.

“You mean food that the bodyguards cook so they can ensure it’s not poisoned,” Hyungseok said.

Jinwoo nodded.

“Hyung, are you sure you don’t want to quit the musical?” Jinook asked.

“I’m not quitting,” Myungjun said. “I made a promise to the cast and crew and fans.”

“What about the cast and crew and fans? What about their safety?” Hyeokjin asked.

“Dalkong-ssi and his team have been coordinating with the police to work with the venue and production team,” Jinwoo said.

“Wait,” Hoetaek said. “So when Myungjun did that interview, he was just being bait?”

“Essentially,” Jinwoo admitted. “We’ve been building a very careful strategy.”

Hyungseok reached out and curled his hand around Myungjun’s wrist. “You’ve probably been very scared and stressed out by yourself.”

“I’ve been protected,” Myungjun said.

Hyungseok squeezed his wrist gently. He had big strong hands, but they weren’t the same as Rocky’s.

“Can one of us stay with him?” Hyungseok asked Jinwoo. “Just so he’s not lonely.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Rocky said, his tone entirely unapologetic. “That increases the burden on the security team and the risk to Myungjun exponentially.”

Hyungseok lapsed into anxious silence, lips pressed into a thin line.

Jinwoo reached out and patted his hand. “I know it seems cruel, but Rocky and his teammates know what they’re doing. They’re professionals. They’ll protect Myungjun well.”

Hyungseok nodded.

Jinwoo pushed his tablet into the middle of the table for all of them to see. “Now, about next week’s schedule.”

Myungjun fished his phone out of his pocket obediently. Jinwoo could push the schedule from his tablet onto each of their phones for them to see. He kept their schedules color-coded so they could keep everything clear. Their schedule actually had six colors, so events where they’d appear as a full unit were easily marked.

Rocky made no move to look at his own phone or check Myungjun’s schedule, but then he’d probably already seen it and memorized it.

The team was scheduled to appear at another countryside harvest festival where many trot artists were scheduled to perform, as well as on a music broadcasting show where they’d be doing a special musical number. They were scheduled for a photo shoot for a magazine spread, and also a variety show appearance featuring a couple of other trot artists.

Jinwoo talked over what was expected of them for each appearance, and also where each one was located so they’d have a sense of travel time and how early they’d have to wake up, and whether or not they’d have to stop by the salon to be made up beforehand or not.

“Of course, Myungjun’s security team will drive him separately,” Jinwoo said.

“Right,” Jinook said in a small voice.

Even though he was the youngest, he was usually brimming with the confidence — one of his nicknames among the team and from fans was Boss Baby — but he kept darting nervous glances at Rocky and looking rather small and miserable.

Rocky said, “My entire team will be keeping Myungjun-ssi under surveillance for security purposes, but the only person you’ll see is me.”

“How does that work?” Hyeokjin asked. 

“It’s for security purposes. One of the stalkers has already seen me, so for the rest of my team to work effectively they must remain anonymous,” Rocky said. 

“But how will we know if someone is your teammate versus someone suspicious?” Hoetaek asked.

“You won’t be able to spot any of my teammates,” Rocky said.

“Are you sure?” Hyungseok asked.

Rocky said, “They’re professionals. These stalkers aren’t.”

“You haven’t managed to catch the stalkers yet,” Hyeokjin said.

“If you spot anyone suspicious, please report them to me immediately,” Rocky said, and that was clearly the end of the discussion.

The others looked unimpressed, to say the least, but Rocky didn’t say anything further.

Jinwoo continued reviewing the schedule with them.

Myungjun had to resist the urge to turn around and glare at Rocky for upsetting his teammates. Hyungseok looked pale and drawn, just as anxious and tense as he’d been when he’d first become a trainee. Jinook had shrunk in on himself even more and looked practically tiny in his chair. Hyeokjin was trying to project an air of calm confidence, sitting back in his chair, but was bouncing his knee so fast he was vibrating his entire corner of the conference table, and one of Hoetaek’s pens was about to bounce all the way off the table from the force of the vibrations.

Finally Hyeokjin burst out with, “How can you just _sit_ there?”

Jinwoo paused mid-sentence.

Rocky said, “I’m standing.”

“Not you,” Hyeokjin said. He narrowed his eyes at Myungjun. “You. How can you just sit there and let this happen? Our team has been torn apart and our lives have been turned upside down and — if you just quit the damn musical all of this would stop.”

Rocky said, “Myungjun-ssi has two stalkers. One of them has been stalking him since he debuted.”

 _“What?”_ Hoetaek demanded.

“Myungjun-ssi’s participation in the musical has given him more exposure, which has fueled the second stalker’s delusion, but quitting the musical wouldn’t stop that stalker at all,” Rocky said. “While it might stop the first stalker, there’s no guarantee, but it definitely wouldn’t stop the second stalker.”

Hoetaek turned to Jinwoo. “There are _two?”_

“Two who’ve made active threats against Myungjun’s safety. On a daily basis he receives at least a dozen threats that could be referred to police for criminal prosecution, but none have progressed to physical threats, though we do monitor all of them,” Rocky said.

“Hyung, how long has this been going on?” Jinook asked.

“You heard Rocky-ssi,” Jinwoo said quietly. “At least one stalker has been going after him since debut.”

Hoetaek sighed. “Myungjunnie, are you all right?”

“I’m safe,” Myungjun said. “I’ll be all right when all this is over.”

“We’re working with the security team and the police,” Jinwoo said.

The others nodded.

“So do what Rocky-ssi and his teammates say, okay? For Myungjun’s sake, and your own,” Jinwoo continued, and the others nodded again.

After the meeting, Myungjun dragged Rocky into a small conference room that wasn’t being used.

“Why did you scare my teammates like that? We’ve been keeping them out of the loop for a reason. Jinwoo’s been having me live away from them for a reason.”

“He’s been having them live away from you for their physical safety,” Rocky said.

“But you _scared_ them,” Myungjun said.

Rocky looked at him. “They haven’t been taking the threats to your safety seriously,” he said. “They blame you for the inconveniences to them. What’s happening to you isn’t your fault. They’re blaming you — and you’re blaming yourself. This isn’t happening because you were chosen for the lead role in the musical. You’ve been receiving threats for much longer than they realize, and you’ve been protecting them for much longer than they realize. They need to understand what’s going on so they take your safety, as well as their own, more seriously, and so they don’t make my team’s job harder than it is.”

Myungjun was pretty sure he’d never heard Rocky say so much at once. He was also pretty sure what Rocky had done back there was defend him.

“You —” Myungjun bit his lip. “I care about my teammates.”

“They should care about you too. Now we must return to the dorm in a timely fashion.” Rocky pulled the door open and herded Myungjun to the parking garage.

Something burned just behind Myungjun’s breastbone. Even though Rocky didn’t say a word to him the entire ride back to the dorm, didn’t look at him or even touch him, Myungjun felt a tiny measure of relief. He wasn’t just a pawn in all this. Yes, Rocky’s team’s goal was to protect Myungjun, but it felt like that had become secondary in the quest to catch the stalkers.

At the dorm, Kangjoon, Bin, and Sanha were studying blueprints of the studio where Myungjun and his team would be doing their variety show appearance. Large cardboard tubes of other blueprints were leaning up against the kitchen counter.

Sanha also had digital footage of all the locations.

“I’ll start on supper,” Rocky said, heading into the kitchenette to wash his hands.

Kangjoon reached out and ruffled Rocky’s hair fondly as he passed, like an older brother. How long had they known each other, worked together?

“The meeting went well?” Bin asked.

Rocky said, “Myungjun-ssi’s team understands the importance of respecting our team’s protocol, and the seriousness of the threats we’re up against. They also understand not to monopolize my cover as a PA when I’m with Myungjun on location next week during schedules.”

“Good,” Bin said.

“Next week will be a big test,” Kangjoon said.

“Oh?” Myungjun asked. He sat down at the kitchen table to watch Rocky cook and the others work.

“Of many things,” Kangjoon said, glancing over at Rocky while he sliced vegetables and rinsed rice and mixed marinade for meat. “How your health is going, how your teammates handle working with our team, how I integrate into the operation, how much the stalkers have decompensated and how much they’ve escalated.”

“How did Myungjun-ssi’s teammates handle the discussion?” Sanha asked.

“As expected,” Rocky said.

Myungjun blinked. So Rocky hadn’t just sprung everything on Hoetaek and the others out of the blue? That whole thing had been planned?

“Jinjin-hyung didn’t like it very much, but it had to be done,” Rocky continued.

Bin nodded.

Sanha tapped rapidly at his laptop. “Okay. Schematics for the variety show studio have been uploaded to everyone’s phones. Memorize! Now, onto the photography studio.”

Bin selected one of the cardboard tubes and reached into his pocket, fished out a knife. He flicked it open with a casual turn of his wrist, sliced through the seal on the end of the tube.

“Will you be able to memorize everything?” Kangjoon asked Rocky. “Since you’re busy cooking and all.”

“He’s always been the fastest at memorizing things out of all of us,” Sanha said easily. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just order food and test it?” Kangjoon asked.

“Yes, but that’s riskier and also more expensive,” Rocky said. “I go to a different grocery store every time, and I buy different brands every time. This is safer — for all of us, not just Myungjun-ssi. Plus it’s safer than having multiple delivery drivers come to this building.”

Bin nodded his agreement.

Kangjoon slewed Myungjun a look.

Myungjun resisted the urge to fold his arms on the table and lie down on them like he had as a student when he was tired, even though he was exhausted. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and padded into the bedroom, found his sketchbook and some drawing pens, and headed back to the kitchen.

Kangjoon was new. Kangjoon was handsome, had an arresting face. Myungjun would try drawing him, since that would be a good distraction from — everything.

But then the scent of sizzling meat filled the air, and when the meal was ready, Rocky placed a dish in front of Myungjun and murmured, too low for the others to hear,

“Eat well, so you can heal well.”

Myungjun smiled at him, and Bin and Kangjoon both cast him vicious glares, and he immediately retreated to the far side of the kitchen, and Myungjun remembered that there was a spotlight on him, and it wasn’t a kind one.

For the rest of the night, he stayed quiet, and he avoided Rocky and all of the security team while they made plans for his schedules next week, and when it was time for bed, he crawled under the sheets and closed his eyes and wondered if he really was brave, or if he was just being stubborn, and if his life really was worth all this trouble.

_If I met myself again..._

* * *

There was a certain genius to the way Jinwoo had managed to arrange the team’s schedule for the next week. Their first appearance was the photo shoot, which didn’t involve interacting with any members of the public, just the professional photography team, for which Myungjun was grateful. The next appearance was the variety show appearance, which was long, but in a closed studio. The appearance after that was the special appearance on the broadcasting show, and while it was a live performance, it was a single number, and a slow one at that, so Myungjun wouldn’t be too strained, and the final appearance for the week was the little trot festival, so Myungjun could work his way up in terms of strenuousness but also in level of public exposure.

On the morning of the photo shoot, Myungjun woke, Rocky fed him breakfast — the rest of the security team was nowhere to be seen, and all Rocky did was drink some kind of health shake — and then Rocky drove Myungjun to the photography studio where they met the rest of Myungjun’s trot team.

The team was going to be featured on the cover of a fashion magazine, which was a pretty huge honor. They’d been the feature article in more than one magazine before, but this was their first cover, so they had to do their best. 

Of course, Jinwoo was there with the others when Myungjun and Rocky arrived. Once again, Rocky was dressed like a stylish PA, looked like Jinwoo’s sidekick.

“Hyung,” he said, greeting Jinwoo with a sunny grin, and wow, Myungjun had almost forgotten what his dimpled smile looked like.

Jinook’s mouth dropped open, and Hyeokjin stared as well.

They made their team introduction, and then it was time to get to work.

Rocky bowed respectfully to the rest of Myungjun’s team, and then he ushered Myungjun into the dressing room so he could get styled for the first portion of the shoot.

Where Jinwoo would hang back for the shoot like usual, Rocky was a bit more underfoot, hanging close to Myungjun with a mini electric hand fan and a bottle of water.

“Myungjun’s health is a little delicate, since the poison attack at the last festival,” Jinwoo explained, “and between Myungjun being so busy at the musical and now this, having a second PA for just him has been helpful, and it’s given a young intern a lot of experience, so.”

The stylists didn’t seem to mind Rocky hovering and even put him to work, making him hold makeup pots and brushes since he was standing so close to Myungjun, and they’d ask his opinion.

“How does that look?” “What do you think?” “Does he look sexy?” 

“Is he supposed to look sexy?” Rocky asked.

“Yes,” the woman painting Myungjun’s lips said.

“Oh, well, then yes, he looks very sexy,” Rocky said, stumbling over his words a bit, and the stylists giggled.

“Only be careful with the powders, his lungs are still delicate,” Rocky said, when one of the stylists went to blow some face powder off the back of her hand.

“Ah, all right,” she said, and turned away to do it.

Rocky handed Myungjun a thermos. “I brought some of your favorite honey green tea. You’re not here to talk or sing, but you should still look after your voice.”

Myungjun sipped from it carefully, then handed it back to Rocky, who screwed the lid on, somehow without dropping the pot of contouring powder. 

“Why are you being like this?” he asked in a low voice while the stylists bustled away to summon the hair stylists.

“Like what?” Rocky asked.

“So damn sweet and nice,” Myungjun hissed. 

Rocky blinked, and his eyes looked so wide and innocent, and he looked so young, but Myungjun could still remember what his skin felt like, what his body felt like, what his kisses tasted like.

“You’re supposed to be _professional,_ remember?” 

Rocky leaned in, his lips almost brushing Myungjun’s ear, and said, his voice startlingly deep for how young and sweet it had sounded a moment ago, “Everyone thinks I’m your intern PA and not your bodyguard, so let’s keep it that way, all right?”

He straightened up right before the hair stylist arrived, and his expression was cool, impassive, just as blank and robotic as it was around the apartment, but then the makeup artists had returned and they were pinching his cheeks and taking the makeup pots and brushes from him, and he was smiling sweetly and looking bashful, and Myungjun’s blood ran cold.

All this time, he’d thought Rocky’s sweetness was genuine, his kindness above and beyond his professional duties, but had he been wrong?

He thought of what Bin had said, how Myungjun was dependent on Rocky for his safety, and Rocky was the one who should have known better, and he felt his world tilt on its axis.

Who was he supposed to trust? Because he sure as hell couldn’t trust himself and his feelings.

Once he was made up, he headed for his first costume change.

Rocky followed him into the fitting room and checked the clothes, and Myungjun hated his traitorous heart and the way it sped up when Rocky patted Myungjun down, smoothing down the clothes like he was checking the fit but was actually doing one last security sweep before he let Myungjun out of the fitting room.

The others cheered when Myungjun stepped out onto the studio floor, and he did his best to be his usual self, preen and smile — and then he noticed Bin standing among the other photography staff, manning one of the lights.

Bin was wearing a slightly too-large shirt that hid how muscular he was, and a backwards baseball cap that was jammed on a bit too tightly and altered the proportions of his face, made him look like an annoyed cat. He slouched as he stood, and it made him sort of — forgettable. Where he was wearing one of the staff jackets and badges and working smoothly with the rest of the team to shift the lights as Myungjun headed onto the little photography set, there was no reason for Myungjun’s teammates to take any notice of him.

Of course, neither Rocky nor Jinwoo paid him any special attention or acknowledged him.

If Myungjun had never seen him before, he wouldn’t have realized someone among the staff was amiss.

Who else among the staff was amiss?

Myungjun scanned their faces. He didn’t see Sanha, but then Sanha was probably monitoring digitally. 

Was Kangjoon there?

Myungjun didn’t see him, but what if he was in disguise?

“Relax,” Rocky said quietly, handing Myungjun the thermos of honey tea. “Bin-hyung is here protecting you. I’m bait, same as you, hm? I’m first-line protection, but now that I’m compromised, I’m also bait.”

Before Myungjun could ask Rocky if he really had been compromised or if he was still compromised and what that even meant, the photographer shouted for everyone but the subject to clear the set, and Rocky whisked the thermos away, retreated to the sidelines.

Myungjun did his best to listen to instructions, to pose and smile and pout and affect the emotions and expressions the photographer wanted, but it was hard. He’d done dozens of photoshoots before, not just with his teammates but also solo, and also with his fellow costars for the musical, so having people watch him wasn’t strange. But knowing that Bin and Rocky were watching him was something else.

Because he’d _kissed_ Rocky, and there was a chance that Rocky was attracted to him, and here he was supposed to be attractive and seductive while there on the sidelines stood a man he’d actually sort of managed to seduce.

Sort of. 

They hadn’t gone all the way, but —

Myungjun bit his lip and closed his eyes to dispel the image.

“Yes! That’s it! That’s golden. You look so good. So hot. Whatever you’re thinking of, keep it up. That’s the perfect shot.”

Myungjun’s eyes flew open. He was in the middle of a photo shoot, and he’d spaced out, lost in the memory of kissing his bodyguard.

The photographer frowned. “Try another angle. Unless you can get back to that headspace?”

Myungjun darted a look at Rocky, who stood on the sidelines with the thermos of tea and the hand fan, then a look at Bin, who was only half-visible behind the glare of one of the lights, and felt himself blushing terribly beneath his makeup.

“Uh, how about another angle?” Myungjun tilted his head and attempted a sultry look.

Only did he look silly?

But he knew the truth. The faces people made when they were actually in the throes of passion were silly, and the expressions performers wore onstage, which were fake — those were the ones the fans went crazy over.

Only Myungjun could remember the heat in Rocky’s gaze in the instants after they’d separated before he’d scurried over to Bin, awaiting discipline.

Surely that hadn’t been fake?

But heat wasn’t the same as genuine affection.

That heat had felt like _something,_ though.

And Myungjun had been feeling empty for a while, though. Empty and hollow and, now he could admit it: afraid.

Afraid of his own wildness and recklessness and ego, afraid of how high he was going, and how hard the fall would be when it came. Perhaps it was already coming. Perhaps the universe had seen fit to punish him for soaring too close to the sun, but instead of melting his wings it had set two stalkers after him.

He darted another glance at Rocky, who was watching him intently, who immediately tore his gaze away when he was caught staring and began a very prim and proper and professional perimeter scan.

Maybe the universe had sent someone to catch him after all.

There was more than one way to soar, and more than one way to fall, and more than one way to burn.

The photographer said, “Yes, that’s it, Myungjun-ssi, you’re beautiful, you’re a god, you’re an incubus.”

And Myungjun snapped his focus back to the camera, and the photographer flashed him a thumbs up. “All right, next!”

It was Hoetaek who swaggered onto set, wearing some kind of creaking silvery-black vinyl outfit, all in smoky makeup.

“You did great,” Jinwoo said.

Rocky was at Myungjun’s side in an instant, plying him with the honey tea.

“Good luck, hyung,” Myungjun said to Hoetaek.

“You all right?” Hoetaek asked, glancing at Rocky and trying not to stare at him but failing.

Myungjun nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Better go get into my next outfit.”

Thankfully after this Myungjun would have a bit of a break. They’d each do a solo shoot, a group shoot, and maybe a couple of pair or smaller group shoots after that, and then of course an interview.

Hoetaek offered a tight smile, and then went to charm the camera. 

The outfits for the group shot weren’t that bad, jeans and t-shirts, a refreshing look to show another side of the group from their individual sexy sides, show off their versatility and the bright image that their fans loved, the cheer and energy they brought in their songs, so Myungjun could sit comfortably and watch Hoetaek perform for the camera, because a photoshoot was a performance too, albeit a different kind from performing onstage.

Rocky remained beside him, offering him the fan and more tea. Hyungseok looked downright spooked when Rocky offered him bottled water and a little packet of cookies, refused them. Rocky just ducked his head respectfully with a little demure smile and resumed standing beside Myungjun, relaxed but alert.

Myungjun was doing his best not to stare at Bin who, by all appearances, was working hard and was very competent at his job, was focused on aiming his light and how Hoetaek was posing.

The rest of the photoshoot went smoothly. Myungjun and his teammates were professionals, and Rocky and his teammates were professionals. During their lunch break, the interview took place. Of course, Myungjun ate the little packed lunch Rocky provided him. Jinwoo must have spoken to the reporter ahead of time, because no questions were asked about the stalking incidents or Myungjun’s recent solo news interview, and any questions about the musical were softballs, just about how much Myungjun was enjoying himself and liked doing musicals in general and all the positive reviews he’d been getting about his performance.

After the shoot, Myungjun bade his teammates farewell, and Rocky whisked him back to the dorms. 

The entire drive was silent.

At the door, Rocky said, “Please stay as quiet as possible. Kangjoon-hyung is sleeping so he can have the night shift. Sanha set up your laptop in your room so you can watch dramas in there in comfort. I’ll get started on dinner, and I’ll bring you some when it’s ready.”

Myungjun nodded. He input the door code while Rocky watched his back.

Sanha was sitting in the den, and he waved a silent greeting. Sure enough, Kangjoon was asleep on a bedroll on the floor, as silent and still as Rocky had been in times past. 

Rocky escorted Myungjun straight to his room where someone — probably Sanha — had set up a little nest on the bed with pillows, blankets, and Myungjun’s laptop, as well as a little side table with drinks and snacks and Myungjun’s drawing supplies.

Myungjun sank down on the bed.

So this was how it would be — he was a prisoner in his own dorm.

He wondered about going onto the roof, but of course until Bin got back from the photo shoot, where he was probably diligently helping clean up to maintain his cover, there wasn’t enough manpower for him to go to the roof, especially now that Rocky was compromised.

Myungjun sighed. He pushed himself up off the bed and headed into the kitchen.

“Can I help you cook?”

Rocky turned to him, startled.

“I can help,” Myungjun said. “It’s not like I’m going to poison myself.”

“Do you know how to cook?” Rocky asked.

“I’m not as good as you, but surely you can trust me with some basic chopping and stirring,” Myungjun said.

Rocky studied him for a long moment. Then he said, “I don’t have any recipes for you to follow. I just — cook.” He rummaged in a drawer and came up with a spare apron. “Here. Wash your hands.”

“What are we making?”

“Vegetable fried rice, some marinated pork, tteokbokki, sweet potatoes, and some green beans,” Rocky said.

Myungjun nodded. He wondered why he’d never offered to help cook before. It was something to do, and it was better than stewing on the problem of his own safety.

Rocky was a very competent cook, handled a knife easily, but then perhaps that spoke to a darker skill with a knife, one Myungjun didn’t want to think about too much. Rocky was also a patient instructor, explaining to Myungjun what they were making and each step to preparing and assembling the dishes. He also offered up random tips and tricks to making each dish, and side-by-side in the kitchen like this, Myungjun could almost forget that they were bodyguard and singer, that his life was in danger. Myungjun could almost pretend that they were two acquaintances or friends or even almost-lovers making a meal together. 

And then Bin said, “What’s going on here?”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Rocky said.

Myungjun said, “I didn’t want to sit in my room. It’s not like I’m going to poison myself, or any of you.”

Sanha said, “Everything’s been fine. They haven’t disturbed Kangjoon-hyung.”

Bin was still wearing the outfit he’d worn as part of the photography crew.

“Did you get anything?” Rocky asked.

“The delusional stalker is definitely decompensating,” Bin said. “But we did well today, kept any sasaengs and fans off of the photography set, so nothing will be leaked. Apart from the official SNS posts, in which Myungjun will not feature, nothing from today’s photoshoot will be made available till official press releases go out.”

“Is that why you were there today?” Myungjun asked.

“Among other things,” Bin said. “We’re keeping a really tight lid on your presence and forcing both stalkers out into the open. If they want to see you, they’ll have to make the effort and not piggyback off of sasaengs and the like.”

“What’ll happen when they come out in the open?” Myungjun asked.

“We really don’t know,” Bin admitted. “We’ll do our best to be prepared. In the meantime, you do your best to be yourself, and let us handle the rest.”

Myungjun nodded.

Rocky said, quietly, “You can go sit down. I’ll handle the rest.”

Myungjun went to ask if he was sure, but then he considered how Bin was eyeing Rocky warily, so he set down his paring knife, washed his hands, took off his apron, and retreated to his room to watch some dramas after all.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Myungjun did his best to concentrate on being himself, on being Kim Myungjun, singer and entertainer, but he was hyperaware of Rocky always beside him even if Rocky did that thing where he stood just in the blind spots of Myungjun’s peripheral vision and held so perfectly still that he disappeared. And he was always on the lookout for Bin or Sanha or Kangjoon undercover as one of the staff at the venues where Myungjun and his team were appearing. He was able to spot Sanha, because Sanha was so tall, and Kangjoon was so handsome, but he was very disconcerted when, at the venue for the trot festival, he almost didn’t spot Bin who was working as one of the stagehands, once again all in black but also sporting some fake facial hair.

What was even more disconcerting was the number of times Rocky interceded with a sasaeng who was trying to sneak photos or footage of Myungjun and his teammates. One was a girl disguised as janitorial staff at the studio for the variety show who had a camera hidden in the handle of her mop. Another was a boy who had gotten a job as an intern months in advance of the team’s appearance at the music show and had sneaked photos and footage of them before (though Rocky and his team ruled him out as one of the stalkers later that evening, upon reviewing the boy’s background when they’d received information from the police). 

One girl had disguised herself as a grandma and pretended to be a cleaning lady at the dressing room for the trot festival, but somehow Rocky saw through her disguise and alerted venue security before she was able to sneak any pictures.

Upon discovery she’d gone wild, flinging herself at Rocky and attacking him. Because he had to maintain his cover as a PA, he hadn’t fought back much, and by the time security had dragged her off of him — he’d bumped into her and “mistakenly” dislodged her wig — he’d sustained several scratches and might have been on his way to a black eye.

“Are you all right?” Myungjun asked, kneeling beside him.

“I’m fine,” Rocky said, climbing to his feet.

Several of the makeup girls from other artists crowded around Rocky, cooing over him, because Jinwoo had introduced him as a young intern acting as Myungjun’s PA while he was recovering from his stalker attack.

Rocky managed to extricate himself from the concerned little cluster and returned to Myungjun’s side.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Myungjun asked as Rocky resumed his place at Myungjun’s side.

“Very sure,” Rocky said. “She wasn’t trying to kill me, and she had no weapons.”

A moment later, Bin, still dressed as a stagehand but carrying a tablet and wearing a headset and looking more like a PD, said, “Super Five, ready for your soundcheck?”

Jinwoo, looking a bit shaken, said, “How soon? Can you maybe take another team ahead of us?”

Bin checked his tablet. “I’ll see what I can do. Is there a problem?”

“Just a brief security incident,” Jinwoo said.

Bin glanced at Rocky.

Rocky met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between them, and then Bin headed away.

A moment later, another PD came to summon them, and Rocky stayed close to Myungjun.

Myungjun headed onto the stage with the rest of his team. He stayed in the wings, because he wouldn’t be dancing with the others.

“How are you feeling?” Rocky asked. 

He had a seemingly endless supply of honey tea for Myungjun’s voice, and he was constantly asking how Myungjun was feeling, and if Myungjun sounded the tiniest bit hoarse or coughed at all, Rocky plied him with some; whether or not he was genuinely concerned, Myungjun couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if Rocky’s concern was genuine.

“Fine,” Myungjun said.

But the truth was, he wasn’t fine.

Because he felt like someone was _always watching._ Ever since Detective Seo had asked about it, Myungjun had been on the lookout for it, but now he was pretty sure he was just imagining it. If someone was watching him too closely, he was in danger. Even if the stalker himself wasn’t watching Myungjun, a sasaeng watching and sneaking photos could mess up Bin’s team’s plan, but someone who was watching too closely could be the stalker or maybe someone working for the stalker, or maybe just Bin or one of his teammates in disguise, or perhaps just someone who hated Myungjun because of who he was and what he did when he wasn’t doing trot music, or —

“Have some tea,” Rocky said gently.

“I don’t want some tea,” Myungjun hissed.

Rocky stepped back. “All right.”

Myungjun’s teammates looked good, were hitting their marks and cues just fine.

Myungjun had felt all right on the music show, had sung all right even if he hadn’t gone for his notes full power. He’d cautiously warmed up his voice on the drive over, and he hadn’t felt out of breath, and his throat hadn’t hurt, so he felt like he could go a little further.

So when the others were finished, he stepped out onto the stage, popped in his in-ear monitor.

“Can we just take it from the second verse and chorus?” he asked, testing the mic.

The sound guy signaled from the booth.

Myungjun scanned the flurry of black-clad stagehands compulsively, searching for Bin and Rocky on the sidelines, but he couldn’t see either of them.

The guy in the soundbooth signaled again, and the music started.

Myungjun bobbed his head to the beat, caught the cue, and began to sing.

As soon as he hit the chorus, he let his voice swell. He’d sung this song a thousand times. It had been one of his favorites since he was a child, as his grandmother loved it, and he’d sung it since before he’d ever had dreams of becoming a professional singer, knew it inside and out. 

He smiled, leaned into the higher notes.

And then his breath caught, because he didn’t have his usual lung capacity, and he doubled over, coughing, out of breath.

Rocky was beside him in an instant, arms around him, supporting him, holding him tightly.

“Hyung, it’s all right,” he murmured, warm and firm.

Myungjun tried to nod, but he couldn’t breathe. He staggered.

Rocky caught him, held him, sank to his knees and cradled Myungjun against him.

Whispers and murmurs rose around them. People were staring and whispering more. Rocky gathered Myungjun into his arms and supported his weight, held him upright so he could open up his lungs and get a better breath.

“Here, have some warm honey tea, it’ll open up your airways more,” Rocky said gently, patting Myungjun’s back but not thumping him too hard.

He managed to unscrew the cap of the thermos and pour some tea into the cap — which also served as a cup — one-handed and hold it to Myungjun’s lips.

Myungjun managed to swallow some down without choking, and finally he stopped coughing.

“Are you all right?” Jinwoo asked.

He and Hoetaek stood over Myungjun.

Myungjun nodded and cleared his throat several times. “Yes. I just over-extended myself vocally. I’ll rein it back. I’ll drink a little more and try again.”

“Are you sure?” Jinwoo asked.

Rocky helped Myungjun to his feet.

Everyone was still staring at them.

“I’m sure,” Myungjun said firmly, and resisted the urge to ask, _Did I stutter?_ Instead he offered up one of his trademark sunny smiles.

Rocky handed him some more tea, and Myungjun drank deeply.

“All right,” Myungjun said into his mic, “from the top of verse two again.”

The guy in the soundbooth nodded and gave Myungjun the high sign. Myungjun lifted his chin, and this time he made it through both the verse and the chorus without feeling like he was about to break into a fit of coughing or like he was going to suffocate, and he figured he’d found the happy medium for his voice.

He did his best not to think about how it had felt, with Rocky pressed close to him, Rocky’s hands on him.

Back in the dressing room, the others clustered around him.

“Are you all right?” Hyungseok asked.

“I’m fine,” Myungjun said. “I just overextended myself a bit.”

“Will you be able to perform?” Jinwoo asked.

Myungjun nodded. “Of course.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, hyung,” Jinook said, and goodness gracious, his eyes were wide and shining and he looked ready to cry.

Myungjun tossed his head. “Aish, I’m not dying! I just pushed a high note too hard, all right? Rocky, give me some damn honey tea.”

Rocky immediately pressed a cup into his hand, and Myungjun knocked it back like it was a shot of soju.

Hyeokjin winced.

“See? I’m fine,” Myungjun said. “Can we all stop acting like —”

“Like you almost died?” Hyungseok said.

“You weren’t acting like this before,” Myungjun snapped.

Hyeokjin bit his lip, looked away.

Rocky and his teammates’ ploy had worked, perhaps a little too well.

Bin, dressed as a PA again, reappeared. “We’re shifting you in the lineup,” he said.

Jinwoo turned to him, surprised. “Ah — will other teams mind? We’re slated to appear between some well-respected sunbaes.”

Bin held out his tablet and showed Jinwoo. “We’ve rearranged it so you’ll be appearing after this singer. The other artists have been informed.”

Jinwoo nodded.

“Who are we performing before and after?” Hoetaek asked. “Just we can do our MC parts properly.”

Myungjun held his breath, but Hoetaek barely paid attention to Bin.

Would one of them notice that he’d also been at the photo shoot? Would he seem suspicious to them?

But Hoetaek just accepted the tablet from Bin and scanned it, made notes on his phone.

Jinwoo conferred with Bin, and Bin bowed and swept away.

Myungjun watched him go, then looked at his teammates. Yes, Bin was a trained professional, but they were so unsuspecting. Had Bin been someone else, someone with ill intent, they could have been injured.

But then hadn’t Myungjun been just the same, mindlessly accepting some flowers?

Hoetaek could have been poisoned by touching the tablet.

Of course, Bin had been handling it bare-handed, but it was his tablet; he’d know where to touch it safely.

Myungjun sank down in one of the makeup chairs and closed his eyes.

This was what his life had come to. 

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel people watching him, and he wondered at all the other ways he could be vulnerable.

Then he opened his eyes and saw Rocky standing beside him, scanning the massive group changing room, and he wondered: was this how Rocky’s mind worked? Was this what he was always thinking of, all the ways someone might want to hurt Myungjun, all the ways he could be injured?

And were the stalkers always thinking this way?

No. Myungjun had to get out of that headspace. He had to calm down and center himself, relax and be ready to smile and charm and perform.

He was a professional.

And he was good enough to get on that stage and make the audience smile and cheer even if he couldn’t access his full vocal power and range, and when he took his bows, he could feel all those eyes on him, and he wanted to run away and hide, but he stayed out there, and he smiled and waved, and he strode off the stage with dignity so his teammates could continue to perform.

At the end of their set, he and his teammates took their bows, and Hyungseok introduced the next act, and then they departed from the stage.

“Want to get dinner with us before you head back to the dorm?” Jinook asked, as they changed out of their costumes.

“It’ll look a bit odd, Rocky testing all my food before I eat it,” Myungjun said.

The others all glanced at Rocky, who was helping Myungjun pack up his supplies.

“Right,” Hyeokjin muttered.

“See you at the schedule meeting on Monday,” Myungjun said. “Have a good weekend.”

“You too, hyung,” Jinook said, and he actually pulled Myungjun in for a hug.

Hyungseok crowded close for a hug, and soon a group hug ensued, and Myungjun hadn’t realized how much he missed his teammates.

“See you Monday,” Hoetaek said. He looked at Rocky. “Take care of him.”

Rocky said, calmly, “I’d die for him.”

Hoetaek blinked.

“It won’t come to that,” Jinwoo said. He hugged Myungjun. “Be careful, hyung.”

“Rocky’s looking out for me,” Myungjun said. 

“You look out for yourself too,” Jinwoo insisted, and Myungjun nodded.

In the car back to the dorm, Myungjun was too wrung out to drowse.

“So, what was today’s damage report?” he asked. “Besides that crazy sasaeng who attacked you. How many other psychos did you stop? How many other threats came in?”

“I won’t know till we get home,” Rocky said. “Sanha only tells us about digital threats that could rise to something more. If I hadn’t spotted that one sasaeng, Bin or Kangjoon would have warned me about her. If there were others who became threats or the others couldn’t neutralize, they’d tell me, but otherwise my focus is you.”

Myungjun studied Rocky as he drove. Rocky, of course, was focused on the road.

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Think about it, all the time.”

“Think about what?”

“All the ways I could get hurt, or die.”

“Threat assessment is a basic skill.”

“Doesn’t it stress you out?”

“It’s my job.”

“People’s jobs stress them out all the time.”

Rocky glanced at him. “Do you think about how to breathe when you sing? How to control a note, sustain it and swell it? How to project emotion into it?”

Myungjun frowned. “No. I just — do it. In the beginning I had to, but not anymore.”

“Threat assessment is the same for me. I don’t have to think about it. I just do it. You breathe while you sing. I look at a room and know where an attacker could enter and exit.” Rocky guided the car onto the highway.

“Oh? So did you do a threat assessment on me when we first met?”

“You’re strong for your size; people mistake your leanness for thinness and weakness, and you have good cardio because you can dance and sing at the same time, and you have hidden aggression, but you don’t have much training, and in a fight I would prevail because I have both superior strength and technique,” Rocky said.

Myungjun turned away to stare out the window as evening fell, but then he glanced back at Rocky. “So that time when we kissed, you could have pushed me away.”

“Yes. You are unable to overpower me, although you briefly had the element of surprise.”

Myungjun was startled by Rocky’s blunt honesty.

“Why didn’t you push me away?” Myungjun asked.

Rocky bit his lip. He said, “I should have. Bin-hyung was right. What I did was unprofessional, and I apologize, and I should have apologized sooner. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“The answer is irrelevant to your safety.”

“It’s relevant to my comfort, and you said my comfort is important to my safety,” Myungjun said.

Rocky darted a look at him, wide-eyed, and he looked quite young again.

Maybe he really only was a little older than Sanha. After all, he called Bin _hyung._

Finally Rocky said, “I like you.”

Myungjun’s mouth fell open.

“But it doesn’t matter, because it’s my job to project you, and when this job is over I’ll move on and we’ll never see each other again, so.” Rocky swallowed hard. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.

Myungjun sat up straighter. “You can’t just _say_ that and then say _that.”_

Rocky shrugged. “It’s the truth. We’re both adults. We should be honest with ourselves.”

“Bin said you’ve never been like this about anyone before. Surely you’ve guarded more beautiful and impressive people before.”

Rocky slewed him a look. “Why would you assume there’s anyone more beautiful than you?”

From anyone else Myungjun would assume that was flattery or sarcasm or something else, but Rocky’s earnestness and intensity was unwavering. Myungjun swallowed hard.

“But after this job is finished, couldn’t we be together?” Myungjun asked.

“Bodyguards don’t date,” Rocky said. “You don’t even know my real name.”

“Tell me your name. I already know the others’ names anyway. I know Kangjoon’s real name.”

“That’s not his real name. I’ve broken enough rules as it is. I should try to remain as professional as possible for the remainder of my assignment.”

“You just told me you like me,” Myungjun protested.

Rocky shrugged. “We’re not going to do anything about it. I was just being honest.”

Myungjun sank back in his seat. 

“Besides, just because I like you doesn’t mean you like me,” Rocky said. “You kissed me because you wanted comfort. That’s not the same thing as liking me. A lot of clients think they like us because they see us as a source of comfort and protection, but that’s not the same thing. After all, you don’t know anything about me.”

Myungjun’s chest tightened, and not because it was hard to breathe.

All this time, he’d thought Rocky was an emotionless little robot, and here Rocky had been harboring feelings for Myungjun, and he’d bluntly confessed despite the vulnerability of not knowing whether Myungjun actually cared about him.

Myungjun had felt all confused and muddled, but he hadn’t thought about how Rocky felt at all, and —

“I’m sorry,” Myungjun said. “I do like you. You’re handsome and a good cook, and you’re very sweet to me, and you make me smile —”

“Don’t,” Rocky said. “Don’t mistake me doing my job for affection.”

Myungjun looked at him. “But was letting me draw you just doing your job?”

Rocky didn’t answer.

“Or cutting fruit all cute for me? Or holding my hand all night at the hospital when I was poisoned by the bouquet?” Myungjun pressed.

Rocky swallowed hard. Finally, he said, “All of the company cars are outfitted with cameras and microphones. For security purposes.”

They were being watched.

They were always being watched.

Myungjun was tired of being watched. As a performer, he was used to having all eyes on him in an invasive way. Rocky was a bodyguard, but he was supposed to blend into the background, go unnoticed. Right now, he was terribly exposed and vulnerable.

“Answer me,” Myungjun said.

Rocky said, “I told you, I like you.”

“Then you _were_ being affectionate.”

Rocky closed his eyes for a moment, looked pained. He said again, “I’m sorry. I was very unprofessional, and I’m sorry. I — I’ll stop.” And he looked up at the rearview mirror — at one of the cameras, Myungjun realized.

For the rest of the drive, Rocky said nothing, no matter how Myungjun pressed him. He pulled into the parking garage, escorted Myungjun up to the apartment.

As soon as the front door opened, Kangjoon yanked Rocky inside.

Sanha said, “I’ll make dinner. Myungjun-ssi, please wait in your bedroom.”

Myungjun could hear Kangjoon’s raised voice in the den while he sat on his bed, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying, and he couldn’t hear Rocky’s responses.

Then he heard the front door open and close, heard Bin shouting, heard Sanha trying to placate everyone, heard food sizzling.

There was silence, and then a timid knock at the door.

“Myungjun-ssi, dinner’s ready,” Sanha said.

Myungjun opened the door.

Four places were set at the table.

Rocky stood at the kitchen counter, facing the other way, like a child who’d been sent to the corner.

“You performed well today,” Bin said.

“What happened to that sasaeng who Rocky caught?” Myungjun asked.

“She’s being handled by the police,” Bin said.

“She didn’t manage to send any images or video,” Kangjoon said.

Sanha nodded. “Your stalkers have been getting pretty desperate, sending a lot of threats over social media. They’ve decompensated enough that either they can’t handle the effort of regular mail or they’re concentrating their efforts on a more elaborate attack and they can’t be bothered with regular mail because it’ll distract from whatever it is they’re doing, and social media and email is all they can handle in the meantime.”

“That’s reassuring,” Myungjun said faintly.

Sanha’s cooking was nowhere near as good as Rocky’s — Bin and Kangjoon both made faces when Sanha wasn’t looking — but Myungjun didn’t care.

Rocky finished eating and set to cleaning up straight away. He didn’t look at Myungjun once.

“The increase in digital threats does mean our strategy is working,” Kangjoon said. “We’ve alerted the police and security at the theater.”

“Are you any closer to figuring out who the stalkers are?” Myungjun asked.

Bin, Kangjoon, and Sanha exchanged looks, shook their heads.

“We are sure they’re both male, and that’s all we’ve got, unfortunately,” Bin said.

“I know you’re doing your best,” Myungjun said.

“You should just concentrate on resting and recovering,” Sanha said, and smiled sweetly. “Eat up!”

After the meal, Myungjun retreated to his room with fanmail that had been cleared of threats so he could answer some more of it. He wrote for as long as he could, but once his handwriting started to turn bad, as it had from his days of being a student, he set his stationery aside, and he washed up and prepared for bed.

Bin was already asleep. Kangjoon had taken over, and Sanha was back to poking at his laptop.

Rocky was also getting ready to sleep. He avoided Myungjun’s gaze when he ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Myungjun wondered if this was what true professionalism would have looked like, being treated distantly, like an object instead of a person.

He lay in his bed in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. Rocky actually cared about him.

A lot.

But they weren’t allowed to be together.

Just how dangerous was it, that Rocky cared about him?

Myungjun sighed.

The light in the room changed, and he frowned, turned to see what was going on.

The light under the door had vanished.

Because someone was sleeping in front of his door again.

Rocky was there.

Myungjun closed his eyes and wondered what it would be like, to have Rocky sleeping beside him, to be _with_ Rocky.

But Rocky was right. Myungjun didn’t know anything about him, didn’t even know his real name.

_Everybody’s talking about Rocky…_

* * *

Myungjun went to another checkup with Dr. Park, escorted by Rocky and Bin, who cleared him to return to the musical so long as he took it easy that weekend, so Myungjun lazed around, spent time on the roof — supervised by Kangjoon — and answered more fanmail, since drawing Rocky was no longer an option.

Answering fanmail was a really good exercise in reminding himself why he was doing the musical and why he did what he did in general, why he hadn’t quit and why he wasn’t backing down from this stalker business.

Myungjun was answering a letter from a young teen who was terrified of coming out to her parents and had been really inspired by Myungjun’s performance of Jamie when someone knocked on his door.

“Yes?”

“Eunwoo’s here to see you,” Sanha said.

Myungjun frowned and peered down at his phone. Had he received any text messages? Eunwoo was always so polite. Surprise visits really weren’t his thing. Of course he’d have to have cleared it with Jinwoo and Bin’s team first.

Sure enough, there were several text messages from Eunwoo.

_Hey hyung, do you mind if I drop by? I have some more porridge and honey pears for you. I know you’re coming back next week but your Stage Mother insisted. :)_

_Your security team said I could come by. See you soon!_

Myungjun set aside the lap desk and stood up, padded into the den where Eunwoo was letting himself get patted down by Kangjoon.

“ — So good to see you, sunbae!” Eunwoo beamed.

“What a strange coincidence,” Kangjoon said.

“It has been,” Bin murmured.

Rocky bowed and said, “Thank you for understanding, sunbaenim.”

“Of course,” Eunwoo said, and sat down in one of the armchairs.

Myungjun sat on the couch.

Eunwoo surrendered the little lunchbox of food to Sanha, who taste-tested the food before giving it to Myungjun.

It was just as delicious as next time.

“How are you holding up?” Eunwoo asked.

“Pretty well,” Myungjun said. “I’m feeling better, honestly. Ready to get back onstage with the rest of you.”

“I saw the interview. You’re so brave.” Eunwoo’s expression was solemn.

“Easy to be brave with four bodyguards,” Myungjun said. “You know Kangjoon-ssi?”

“He was my sunbae in high school. We all went to the same high school,” Eunwoo said.

 _“All_ of you?” Myungjun raised his eyebrows.

Eunwoo nodded.

Now Myungjun was immensely curious, because Eunwoo’s high school was a famous performing arts high school known for turning out idols and actors and other celebrities.

Kangjoon and the rest of Bin’s team were all remarkably handsome. Even Rocky had called Eunwoo _sunbaenim._

Did Eunwoo know Rocky’s real name?

Could Myungjun find it out if he looked up Eunwoo’s old school classmates?

“What a happy coincidence,” Myungjun said. “I’m afraid I haven’t been keeping up with press about the play. How’s Seungmin doing?”

“Really well.”

“I really am glad,” Myungjun said.

“He still doesn’t kiss as well as you do,” Eunwoo said, and Myungjun laughed and preened.

“Well, I am a really good kisser,” he said, and then paused, realizing how terrible that must sound to Rocky and his teammates.

They were professionals, however, and didn’t all immediately turn and glare at Rocky.

Rocky looked like he was carved from stone where he stood by the door, and Myungjun immediately felt guilty.

“We all miss you and your energy,” Eunwoo said. “We’re excited to have you back. Things aren’t the same without you.”

“They won’t be the same with me either,” Myungjun said. “I know security at the theater has changed even with me gone.”

“For the better, I know it.” Eunwoo smiled, and Myungjun had forgotten how beautiful he was. 

Why couldn’t Myungjun had fallen in love with Eunwoo like the rest of Korea had?

Wait, was Myungjun in love with Rocky?

No. That was impossible. He didn’t even know Rocky’s name. He’d just been confused by Rocky’s affection while he was in a vulnerable place. Myungjun was a professional, though, and managed to keep a straight face while he talked to Eunwoo about some of the backstage antics, some audience antics, some near-misses by the cast, improvisations and more.

There was a certain thrill to performing in a play that was totally different from just singing onstage with his team, and Myungjun loved it, and he missed it.

“I can’t wait to get back,” Myungjun admitted.

“Well, eat up and rest up and heal up, and we’ll see you there.”

“Thank you for the food. I’ve missed you all. Give my best to the others,” Myungjun said.

Eunwoo nodded, and Bin escorted him to the door.

As soon as the door was closed, Bin said, “We have to talk about the new protocols for returning to the musical.”

Myungjun frowned. “New protocols?”

“Your return to the musical will be your first exposure in a long time. Both of your stalkers will be desperate to see you. This is their first chance to see you. Both of them are planning on it, and this will be the most dangerous time for you. Theater security is on high alert. The police are on high alert. We’re on high alert. You need to be on high alert too,” Bin said. “So here are a few rules.”

There were more than a few rules.

When Myungjun finally returned to the theater, dressed comfortably but stylishly, made up so he looked good for his press walk, he was prepared to smile and wave and exude confidence, but inside he was terrified.

Rocky walked beside him, wearing that damned outfit with the turtleneck and slacks, looking sleek and stylish and professional and not at all like a bodyguard, but of course the stalkers knew he was a bodyguard, and Eunwoo and theater security did too, as did most of Myungjun’s castmates by now, because word got around.

Even though Rocky parked underground and led Myungjun into the theater from below, they still walked past a little group of reporters so Myungjun could do a brief interview.

Rocky stayed beside Myungjun the entire time. Kangjoon, Bin, and Sanha were all in the building as well, Sanha monitoring the CCTV, Bin and Kangjoon monitoring in person, though Myungjun probably had no chance of actually spotting them.

“Myungjun-ssi, how does it feel to be back?” one reporter asked.

Myungjun smiled and inclined his head politely. “It feels great. The cast and crew are like my family, and I’ve missed them very much.”

“How are you feeling?” another reporter asked.

“I feel great! My doctor says I’ve made a full recovery, and I’m ready to give it my all.”

“Do you feel safe?”

“I do. I know my company and law enforcement and theater staff are looking out for me, so I can go out onstage and perform without feeling burdened.” Myungjun offered up another one of his signature sunny smiles.

“What message do you have for your stalkers?”

“None,” Myungjun said. “My life isn’t about them, and this play isn’t about them. I perform for my fans and the kind audiences who come to enjoy a show with a great message. I hope everyone enjoys the performance tonight!” He smiled again and waved, bowed, and then Rocky herded him toward the stage door — without touching him or looking at him or really even speaking to him, which was how Bin and Kangjoon usually did it, and Myungjun _missed_ Rocky even though he was right there.

Backstage, cheers rose up when Myungjun entered.

He did his best to project cheer and energy. “Myungjunnie’s here!”

Eunwoo and his stage mother and the actress who played his best friend and the actor who played his mentor all swarmed him to give him hugs, and the rush of emotion from that simple gesture of comfort was overwhelming.

For all that Myungjun was never alone, he’d been incredibly lonely without his teammates, without Hyungseok’s cautious affection and Jinook’s teasing and Hyeokjin’s nagging and Hoetaek’s bossiness and — 

“Pardon us, he needs to get to his dressing room now,” Rocky said.

Myungjun wanted to protest the loss of warmth and affection, but he saw how his castmates, who’d pinched Rocky’s cheeks when they thought he was a cute little intern PA, looked uncertain now that they knew he was a bodyguard.

“Of course,” Myungjun’s stage mother said. She patted Myungjun on the shoulder. “We’re so glad to have you back.”

Rocky herded Myungjun to his dressing room, which had a few gifts and flowers in it, though not as many as usual. 

“Sanha’s clearing the others,” Rocky said. “They’ll be here by intermission, if not the end of the performance.”

Myungjun nodded and sank down in the chair.

“Kangjoon’s already done a sweep of the room. I’ll watch the door.” And Rocky took up his post.

“So there aren’t any cameras or bugs in here?”

“None that our team didn’t place,” Rocky said.

Myungjun sighed. “I’d better get ready.”

Rocky nodded absently.

Whenever people stopped by to poke their heads in and say hello, Rocky deflected them deftly. That was one of the many new rules — no surprised visitors in the dressing room.

Seungmin came by. “Hyung, welcome back,” he said shyly.

Myungjun rose up and crossed the room, pulled Seungmin into a hug despite Rocky’s wordless sound of protest. “You did well. I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. It was scary without you, but it must have been scarier for you,” Seungmin said, hugging Myungjun tightly.

Myungjun patted Seungmin’s back. He was an experienced actor, but still young in so many ways. “I’m fine, I promise. But you did so well! I’m so proud of you. Are you sure you’re glad I’m back?”

“Hyung!” Seungmin protested, eyes wide. 

Myungjun laughed. “I’m kidding. I know you’re glad I’m back. It’s good to be back.”

Seungmin darted a cautious look at Rocky. “I don’t know if you remember me, sunbaenim. I was two grades below you in high school. I didn’t recognize you at first. I’m very sorry.”

“I remember you, Seungmin-ssi.” Rocky inclined his head stiffly.

Seungmin blinked his wide eyes at Rocky. “I never thought you’d be a bodyguard. We all thought you’d be, well, doing something like this. You were so well-rounded.”

Rocky said, “Seungmin-ssi is much more talented and too kind. But I must do my job, and you must do yours. Break a leg.”

Seungmin nodded. “See you later, hyung.” And he ducked away.

So Rocky could sing? And maybe dance? Or at least had in high school? Myungjun had assumed acting was his forte since he was a bodyguard and could blend in and pretend. Of course doing musicals required acting as well, but now Myungjun was very intrigued.

“It’s such a small world, how you know so many people around here,” Myungjun said.

Rocky nodded briefly. “You should get ready.”

Myungjun went to change into his costume, and then the makeup team came. Rocky checked them over briefly — they must have been made aware of the new protocols, because they submitted to a without protest — and then Myungjun sank down in the makeup chair and tried to get himself into Jamie’s headspace.

He was in his school uniform and warming up his voice and getting ready to go out there and be vulnerable when his phone buzzed.

Message from Hoetaek. _We’re here!_

Hyungseok and Hoetaek had surprised him by coming to see him on opening night, and they’d all promised to come see him on closing night, but he wasn’t expecting them to come watch him any other night.

 _Your security team says we can come see you!_ Jinook added.

Myungjun felt a lump rise in his throat. 

A moment later, his dressing room door opened, and Rocky said, “Hoetaek-ssi, he’s getting his makeup done.”

“We brought you flowers,” Hyungseok said. “We arranged them ourselves, so we know they’re safe.”

“But you also know they’re ugly,” Hyeokjin said.

“Speak for yourself. Mine are beautiful.” Jinook approached the vanity and bowed. “Hyung, break a leg tonight.”

The makeup artists paused, and Myungjun rose, gave his teammates cautious hugs.

Then he was back in the chair.

They were all well-versed in the art of conversing while getting their makeup done.

“How are you feeling?” Hoetaek asked.

“Good,” Myungjun said. “The doctor said I’m all clear.”

“I mean mentally,” Hoetaek said gently.

“I’ve been out of the rhythm of the musical for a while, but I’m ready. I’ve missed this. Jinwoo was smart, ramping me back up with last week’s schedule. I’m gonna get out on that stage and slay,” Myungjun said.

“You’ll do great.” Hyungseok squeezed his shoulder.

“Everything will be fine, right, Mister Bodyguard?” Jinook asked.

“Follow any safety instructions from any security personnel in case of an emergency,” Rocky said, which was not at all reassuring.

“How has Myungjun been behaving?” Hyeokjin asked, and Myungjun was so glad he was wearing makeup, because he could feel himself blushing.

“Myungjun-ssi has been safe and appropriate,” Rocky said, which was a total lie, and the boldness of his delivery was impressive. He really was a talented actor.

Jinook said, “You really _are_ like a —”

“Don’t call him a robot,” Myungjun snapped.

“Sorry, Mister Bodyguard,” Jinook mumbled.

“We’ll be cheering for you,” Hyungseok said.

“He means he’ll be crying really hard during all your emotional scenes,” Hyeokjin said.

“That means I’m performing well.” Myungjun preened.

Hoetaek reached out and squeezed Myungjun’s shoulder. “I know you’ll do great. I’m glad you’re able to resume performing.”

“Me too.”

Hoetaek looked at Rocky. “Protect him.”

“With my life,” Rocky said promptly.

Hoetaek blinked at him. Myungjun bit his lip, because the intensity and honesty and earnestness in Rocky’s voice was still there.

The makeup artists finished, and Myungjun stood, stretched, shook out his limbs. He gathered his teammates in for a group hug, and they did a modified team cheer, like the kind they did before they went out onstage, and then it was time for Myungjun to go gather with the rest of the cast, warm up his voice some more and do some exercises to get ready to go onstage.

Rocky was his shadow, careful to stay on the edges of the crowd, his eyes ever on Myungjun, making sure he was alive and safe, making sure no threats had made it past his teammates to the haven backstage.

When Myungjun first stepped out onto that stage, his heart was in his throat, and for a moment he thought he might faint or turn and run away, but he held his head high, and he became Jamie. He was going to absolutely slay.

And he did.

There was a certain freedom to being an actor and becoming someone else. It allowed him to feel emotions he didn’t often get to feel, let him experience things he’d never felt. When he was Jamie, he got to feel a love and closeness to his mother that he didn’t have with his real mother, and he got to feel a rage and frustration and that he didn’t get to express toward his own father.

The first time he’d had to put on a dress and high heels for a musical, he’d been a little alarmed, because he’d never have been allowed to put those on, but after playing Angel in RENT, putting those clothes on for Jamie was no big deal. But where Angel had been self-assured, Jamie was less so, and inhabiting Jamie’s headspace meant he was a little shy in the pale yellow prom dress.

He was hella good at walking and dancing in heels though.

He was onstage for the prom scene, mindful of the corsage on his wrist, when Rocky exploded onto the stage and grabbed his arm.

The other actors paused, then tried to improvise around him, startled.

For the entire play, Rocky had been an obedient shadow backstage, staying out of the way when Myungjun rushed backstage for costume changes and makeup adjustments, but suddenly he was there onstage, in Myungjun’s spotlight.

“Move,” Rocky said, and _yanked._

Myungjun cried out, startled, pulled off-balance in the high heels.

A spotlight crashed to the stage where Myungjun had just been standing.

Someone in the audience screamed.

A man in the audience shouted, “Die, abomination!”

Another man shouted, “Myungjunnie, I love you!”

The PA microphone clicked on. Kangjoon said, “Please exit the auditorium in a calm and orderly fashion.”

The house lights came up.

Myungjun glimpsed police officers at all of the exits. More police officers poured into the theaters, standing at each aisle and row.

“Everyone else stay calm,” the stage manager said from stage right. “Security will be with us soon.”

An explosion rocked the stage.

Debris rained down. People screamed and ducked. 

Eunwoo shouted and reached for Myungjun. 

Rocky scooped Myungjun up across his shoulders and ran. He dashed backstage and skipped the dressing room entirely, kicked open a side door and headed through several cement corridors, kicked open another door and emerged in the parking garage.

“Put me down!” Myungjun shouted.

“Can you run in those heels?” Rocky asked.

Myungjun couldn’t, and Rocky dashed for the car. He set Myungjun down, unlocked the car, paused, swore.

“What’s wrong?” Myungjun asked.

“He slashed the tires.”

Myungjun’s heart crawled into his throat. “But I thought you all used different cars so he wouldn’t know which one was yours?”

“We do,” Rocky said. “He’s smart. Come on.” He grabbed Myungjun’s hand and cast a look around the parking garage.

Myungjun stumbled after him. “What about my castmates? What about everyone else at the theater?”

“The police and my teammates will handle them. My responsibility is you,” Rocky said.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re stealing a car,” Rocky said. He reached for the door handle of an old sedan, tested it, but it was locked, so he moved on to the next car.

Myungjun stared. “That’s illegal.”

“The longer we wait here, the longer he has to come find us,” Rocky snapped.

“What about your teammates’ cars?”

“If he knows my car he knows their cars,” Rocky said. “Can’t risk it.” He tried the door handle on a very old sedan, and it opened. “Get in.”

“But —”

“Do you want to die tonight? Then get it in!”

Myungjun obeyed, yanked open the passenger door and slid inside.

Rocky slid into the driver’s seat. He reached into one of his pockets and drew out a pocket knife, flicked open the blade with practiced ease. Myungjun watched him yank off the plastic panel beneath the steering wheel, pull at the wires there, cut them apart, cut away the plastic insulation, and spark them together.

And the engine came alive.

And then they were roaring out of the parking garage.

Police cars were gathering around the theater, but Rocky managed to ease past them.

“Where do we go now?” Myungjun asked. “Back to the dorm?”

“If he knows our cars then he probably knows where your new dorm is. He knows where your team’s dorm is too. I’m going to take you to our headquarters. Other agents there can probably help,” Rocky said. He tapped his watch. “Bin-hyung, I have Myungjun. I’m headed to HQ. Our cars are compromised, so I found alternative transport. Sit rep? Roger that.”

“What did Bin-ssi say?”

“Headquarters is the plan. I’ll hand you off to agents there, and you’ll stay there till Bin-hyung or someone else on the team comes to get you,” Rocky said.

Myungjun blinked. “What about you?”

“I’m off the team from here on out,” Rocky said. “My job as bait is done. We drew the stalker out. Mission accomplished.”

Myungjun’s head spun. “No. Don’t leave me alone with a bunch of strangers. There was a _bomb_ at the theater. You can’t just — what about my teammates? They were at the theater. Are they all right? What about Jinwoo? Are my castmates all right?”

“I don’t know,” Rocky said.

“Can’t you ask Bin-ssi or one of the others?”

“They’re busy right now.”

Myungjun wrapped his arms around himself. The stupid prom dress was sleeveless and he was cold. No. He was going into shock. He was —

“Here,” Rocky said. “I’ll pull around back and one of the agents can escort you inside. Once you’re comfortable and things are stable, Bin-hyung will be able to give you an update on the situation. I’m sure your teammates and friends are safe.”

“How can you be sure?” Myungjun asked. It had all happened so fast. One of the lights fell and then there was a bomb and then Rocky was whisking him away. But there were also so many police officers there. Surely they’d catch the man. _Men._ Right? 

Rocky pulled down a side street between an old Chinese restaurant and a taekwondo dojang and cut the lights on the car. The door of the restaurant swung open, and a tall, handsome man stepped out. 

“Shownu-hyung,” Rocky said, rolling down the window.

And then there was a sound, like a car backfiring, and the man staggered.

“Gunfire,” Rocky said, and rolled the window up. He grabbed the back of Myungjun’s neck and shoved him down, below the window line of the car. He was speaking rapidly — to the rest of his teammates. “HQ is compromised, dammit. How? How in hell? Call 119! He shot Hyunwoo-hyung! Hoseok-hyung managed to drag him inside, but this is insane! And now my transport is compromised. I don’t have a choice. I’m headed for the beta site. No, not the alpha site. If HQ is compromised then I can only assume our files are compromised, and the alpha site is listed in our internal server, but the beta site is not.”

Rocky swore.

Myungjun closed his eyes and covered his head with his arms, bit back a sob as the car swerved and the tires squealed.

He wasn’t sure how long Rocky drove, but he heard more loud sounds — more gunfire? — and then the car came to an abrupt stop.

“Come on, get out.”

Myungjun lifted his head. He was in an underground parking lot.

“What are we doing?”

“This is a shopping mall parking lot. We’re getting a new car,” Rocky said, climbing out.

“What?”

“We need to get you somewhere safe, and we need a new car. Come on.”

“So we’re going to steal another car?” Myungjun climbed out of the car.

Rocky nodded, already on the prowl.

Myungjun trailed after him, shivering, hesitant. Rocky turned, hurried over to him, shrugged off his own jacket, put it around Myungjun’s shoulders, and kept him close. Where could they possibly go? Where would he be safe? What was going on?

“If only we had something to cover your hair,” Rocky murmured. “Come on. Into the mall. Let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around Myungjun’s waist and towed him toward the elevators.

After the dim lighting of the cement parking garage, the brightly-lit mall was almost painful. Rocky kept his arm around Myungjun and guided him off of the elevator, into the main shopping area. Myungjun couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a fancy shopping mall like this, free to roam in public. 

Rocky went from tense and alert to sweet and smiling, and Myungjun’s head started to spin.

“Noona already looks so pretty,” Rocky said, “but it is chilly out. Some kind of hat would be best, no?” He paused by a display of fancy felt hats, like the kind flappers wore in movies about the 1920’s, and picked one up, offered it to Myungjun.

Myungjun tried it on with shaking hands, tried to smile and pose and look sweet.

Rocky reached up, smoothed a lock of hair out of Myungjun’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said. “You look lovely.”

Myungjun was an actor and a professional. And as a singer, he had excellent voice control. He could pitch his voice up so he sounded like a girl, right? “Do I? You’re too nice to me.”

Rocky stepped closer, gazing into Myungjun’s eyes, and Myungjun had forgotten how endless and dark Rocky’s eyes were. “No, I’m not nearly as nice as you deserve.” And then he leaned in and kissed Myungjun gently on the mouth.

“Tsk, young people these days,” an older ahjumma muttered as she bustled by.

But some teenage girls sighed, and when Rocky pulled back, Myungjun saw some girls in school uniforms clustered nearby and giggling.

“When I’m older, I want a boyfriend like him,” one of them said.

Rocky reached into the jacket that was still around Myungjun’s shoulders — so he was drawing Myungjun into a deep embrace — and found his wallet.

“I’ll buy it for noona,” he said softly, smiling his sweet, dimpled smile, and then he guided Myungjun over to the sales counter, arm still around Myungjun’s waist, and paid for the hat.

Rocky hadn’t been kidding. He would totally kiss Myungjun if the mission demanded it.

Myungjun was dazed as he followed Rocky back out to the parking garage. With his hair covered and with Rocky’s jacket on, he was probably less noticeable — and looked more like an actual girl.

“What was the point of that?” Myungjun asked, and hated that his voice shook. “Why did you do that?”

“It does make you harder for the stalker to spot, especially if he has access to CCTV,” Rocky said. “And there’s a gap between when we left the car and when we steal the next car. It’ll confuse him. Let’s go.”

This time Myungjun helped Rocky check for unlocked cars. Rocky told him to skip new models altogether — many of those locked automatically if the key fob got too far away from the car, and those were harder to hotwire anyway. Sure enough, they found an older car that had been left unlocked, and Rocky hotwired it with his knife, and they were headed away from the mall.

Rocky ditched his radio and his smartwatch in case they’d been compromised.

How his team’s internal security system had been compromised, Myungjun didn’t even want to know, but the thought was pretty terrifying. How smart _was_ his stalker? 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Just rest,” Rocky said. “It’ll be a while.”

Myungjun closed his eyes and settled against the passenger window.

Rocky tuned the radio to a soft jazz station.

Myungjun’s mind buzzed with questions. Were his teammates okay? Were his castmates okay?

But all the adrenaline that had been burning through him started to taper off, and he started to crash, and eventually he fell asleep.

If the car stopped, he didn’t know, and if Rocky took breaks, he didn’t know.

* * *

Myungjun woke when Rocky unbuckled his seatbelt and picked him up. He didn’t open his eyes all the way, though, just peered through his lashes as Rocky carried him into a small house.

“Minhyukie,” a woman said. “What a pleasant surprise. Have you eaten?”

“I’ve eaten,” Rocky said.

Minhyuk. Rocky’s real name was Minhyuk. Where was this place?

“Sorry, Eomma,” Rocky — no, Minhyuk said. “Things got kind of wild in the city. You know how it is, with theater kids. Just needed a place to crash for the night.”

Minhyuk’s mother laughed. She was very pretty, Myungjun could see even though he was cradled against Minhyuk’s chest, very different from how he’d been carried sort of military-style out of the theater earlier.

“Your boyfriend is very pretty, but he might want some more comfortable clothes to wear when he wakes up,” Minhyuk’s mother said.

Myungjun’s heart skipped a beat. How easily Minhyuk’s mother thought Myungjun was his boyfriend.

“No, Eomma, it’s not like that. He’s just one of Bin-hyung and Sanha’s friends,” Minhyuk said.

“He’ll probably fit into some of your clothes fine. Here, let me take those heels off of him. I like the red, though, so bold.” Minhyuk’s mother peeled the shoes carefully off of Myungjun’s feet. “Now go, get some sleep. Your room is always ready for you. We can have pajeon for breakfast in the morning, just how you like.”

“Thanks, Eomma. Love you.”

Myungjun continued to pretend to sleep as Minhyuk carried him upstairs and laid him on a narrow bed. Minhyuk carefully wiped the makeup off his face, covered him with a blanket, and then curled up on the floor and slept.

Myungjun let himself drift back off to sleep, but his heart was fluttering.

Minhyuk had brought him home.

* * *

The next day he woke before Minhyuk, and he lay there, gazing down at him. He’d never really had the chance to just watch him sleep before. In sleep, Minhyuk looked very young and very innocent. This wasn’t how he slept when he was at the dorm, flat on his back with his boots on, like a deactivated robot ready to spring to life at any moment. Here he was curled on his side with his pillow in his arms, and he looked calm and content.

Like he felt safe.

But then here he was home.

The door eased open, and Minhyuk’s mother peeked in.

She saw that Myungjun was awake, and she pressed her fingers to her lips, but she smiled and beckoned. Myungjun slid out from under the covers and managed to tiptoe across the room without waking Minhyuk, which was a miracle, considering the time in the dorm Myungjun tried to go to the bathroom and Minhyuk almost tackled him.

Myungjun followed Minhyuk’s mother down the stairs to the main room. 

“Good morning, Eomonim,” he said, bowing.

She smiled. “It’s so nice to meet one of Minhyuk’s friends. He’s been friends with Binnie and Sanha for forever, and I’m always worried he’ll never make new friends. I’m Jeon Minah.”

“Ah, my name is Kim Myungjun,” he said.

“You’re the famous Myungjun-ssi.” Madam Jeon’s eyes sparkled. “He’s told me so much about you. I have some clean clothes for you. I can clean those clothes for you, if you like. You’ll probably fit into some of Minhyukie’s clothes, or maybe Minseokie’s.”

“Minseok?” Myungjun asked.

“Minhyuk hasn’t mentioned his younger brother?” Madam Jeon led Myungjun into the laundry room.

“Minhyuk is very quiet and shy,” Myungjun offered. “Sanha and Bin tend to talk more.”

“That sounds like them.” Madam Jeon handed Myungjun some clean clothes and then stepped out of the laundry room so he could change.

Myungjun changed out of the prom dress and into clean boxers, a t-shirt, and jeans that were just a tiny bit long in the leg. He stepped out of the laundry room and surrendered his clothes to Madam Jeon.

“I don’t see a care tag in this dress,” she murmured.

“It was tailored for me. It’s from a play I’m in,” he said.

“Right! Minhyukie said you were in a musical. He always wanted to do musicals when he was younger — he was in a production of Billy Elliot when he was eleven. He does tap dance, you know.” Madam Jeon set the dress on the counter in the laundry room. “I’ll hand-wash this to be safe.”

“Tap?” Myungjun echoed.

Madam Jeon nodded. “I know. No one looks at a taekwondo instructor and thinks he can do tap or ballet or jazz or any of the other things he can do, but dance was his first passion. He is his father’s son, though, so he’s practical, and teaching taekwondo is what pays the bills.”

Myungjun swallowed down a wordless sound of surprise. She had no idea what her son did for a living. What did she think Bin and Sanha did?

“Have he and Binnie choreographed anything new? Has Sanha learned any new songs on the guitar?”

“I didn’t realize Binnie was a dancer or that Sanha played guitar,” Myungjun said.

“They are all such practical boys. Binnie swam competitively growing up, so he’s able to do well as a swim coach based on the reputation he earned during his competition days. I think Sanha is a bit bored doing IT, though, so that’s why he busks on the weekends. It’s like a secret identity for him.” Madam Jeon led Myungjun further into the main living space and gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table. “I’ll make breakfast for you. Would you like something to drink? Minhyukie doesn’t really like coffee, but I can make some for us.”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” Myungjun said.

Madam Jeon smiled and started the coffee pot, then sat down at the dining table beside Myungjun. She fished her phone out of her pocket. “Here, let me show you. This is Sanha busking.”

Indeed, it was Sanha busking somewhere crowded, maybe Hongdae? He’d drawn quite a crowd. Judging by Sanha’s haircut, the video was pretty recent. And Sanha was amazing, his voice full and sweet, and he was a plenty talented guitarist, doing a cover of Busker Busker’s Cherry Blossom Ending.

“Wow, he sounds so good.”

Madam Jeon beamed. “Doesn’t he? Sometimes Binnie sings with him. They sound so good together.”

Sure enough, there was another video of Bin and Sanha, Sanha on guitar, the two of them doing a cover of 2NE1’s Lonely. They harmonized smoothly.

Myungjun hummed appreciatively. “I can’t believe they never told me.”

“And look at Minhyukie and Binnie dancing.” Madam Jeon turned on another video, and —

Myungjun’s jaw dropped. Seungmin had said he’d always thought Minhyuk would be in musicals because he was talented, but Myungjun hadn’t expected Minhyuk to be _that_ good. Myunjgun could see Minhyuk’s ballet roots in those amazing spins, in his strength and control.

But what startled him was the _passion_ with which Minhyuk danced. So many people joked that Minhyuk seemed like a robot, but all this time, he’d had this inside him, this grace and beauty and _fire._

Madam Jeon laughed. “You’re surprised, right? I get why Minhyukie is kind of shy about his dancing, especially with people who know him from taekwondo. But you sing and dance in musicals. Surely he doesn’t have to be shy around you.”

“I think he’s just always so quiet when Bin and Sanha are around,” Myungjun said.

Madam Jeon didn’t know what her son really did for a living. Minhyuk hadn’t told her, must not have told her for a reason, and Myungjun had to respect that.

After all, he’d referred to his own home as the _beta site._ He’d brought Myungjun here to keep him safe. Had he risked his own mother’s safety, bringing Myungjun here?

“Well, keep enjoying the videos. Minhyukie is too modest for his own good. He should share his talents more, not just his taekwondo. He and Binnie used to dance on the street, I think, but not so much anymore.” Madam Jeon stood up. “The coffee should be done.”

Myungjun poked carefully through her videos till he found one of Minhyuk dancing solo, dressed all in black. He looked so good in black. Myungjun took a deep breath, then tapped on the video. Minhyuk was dancing to a pop song, a woman singing. The choreography was sleek, sensual. Was he dancing in a club? He was dancing for an audience. An audience with a whole lot of females in the audience, judging by the screaming. 

And then Minhyuk dragged his shirt up by the hem, flashing his abs, just like an idol, and the crowd went wild. His ballet leaps were beautiful, but Myungjun had to swallow hard, because Minhyuk exuded raw sexuality, all sliding hips and sultry eyes.

How could Madam Jeon handle her son performing like this?

The song ended, and Minhyuk took his bows.

Myungjun set the phone down and pushed it aside when Madam Jeon returned to the table with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping he wasn’t blushing too terribly.

“Let me see if I can find a video of Minhyukie singing,” Madam Jeon said, poking at the phone. “He doesn’t sing nearly as often as the others, because he’s quite shy about it. But he is quite good. He trained hard for that musical, and he maintained the skill.”

“Thank you,” Myungjun said. He added, cautiously, “You must be quite proud of how talented your son is.”

“He has always worked very hard at the things he cares about,” Madam Jeon said. She laughed a little ruefully. “Now, the things he didn’t care about, that was a bit more of a struggle growing up.” Then she held out her phone. “Ah, this. He’s always liked Bruno Mars, so here’s a Bruno Mars song.”

Myungjun accepted the phone, but it was just a recording.

Of Minhyuk singing Versace on the Floor. 

Myungjun nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee. Minhyuk sounded excellent. He could have been an idol. He had excellent range, and a good mixed voice, could access his head voice and his upper range effortlessly, had a really good belt. Did his mother have any idea what this song was about? Did _Minhyuk_ have any idea what this song was about? Because Myungjun wasn’t sure he could handle Minhyuk singing _Let’s just kiss till we’re naked._

“He is really good,” Myungjun said. “I’m impressed.”

Madam Jeon smiled. “He’s such a good son. He calls me every day. I know the others make fun of him and say he’s a mama’s boy, but he’s a good son.” Then she arched an eyebrow. “He’s mentioned you often, Myungjun-ssi.”

“Ah, all good, I hope.” Myungjun smiled nervously.

“He says you’re an excellent singer and actor, and very dedicated to your craft,” Madam Jeon said.

“He’s very kind,” Myungjun said. 

Madam Jeon lit up. “While you’re both here, you should sing together. That would be lovely.”

“Myungjun-ssi!”

Minhyuk exploded down the stairs, eyes wide.

Myungjun and Madam Jeon turned, startled.

“Minhyukie, you’re finally awake. Shall I start breakfast?” Madam Jeon rose to her feet.

Minhyuk straightened up. “Eomma. I was just -- surprised when I woke and Myungjun-ssi was gone. Breakfast would be lovely.” He approached the table, sat beside Myungjun. “Are you all right?”

“Just fine,” Myungjun said, smiling brightly, and added, “Minhyuk-ssi.”

Minhyuk swallowed hard. Then he blinked. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

“I needed clean clothes. Couldn’t keep wearing Jamie’s prom dress.”

“Right. I just...you look good. In my clothes.” Minhyuk blinked again. Then he darted a glance at the kitchen. “After breakfast I’ll head into town and get a burner phone and contact the others. Stay here and keep calm, okay?”

“How is it that your mother has no idea what you and your teammates do?”

Minhyuk ducked his chin. “I do what I have to do to keep the people I care about safe.”

Myungjun tapped Madam Jeon’s phone and said, “Seungminie was right. You’re incredibly talented.”

Minhyuk bit his lip. “She showed you videos of me singing?”

“And dancing. You’re amazing. Why are you a bodyguard?”

“Because it’s what I’m good for.” Minhyuk pushed himself to his feet. “Eomma, let me help you.”

Madam Jeon clicked her tongue. “Go shower and put on some clean clothes. You’re setting a bad example for our guest. And let me cook. I rarely get to cook for my baby boy.”

Minhyuk looked down at himself. He was still dressed in sleek back, bodyguard black. “Right. I’ll be fast.” And he hurried up the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Madam Jeon said, “He’s a good cook, you know. Always liked helping me in the kitchen. He’s a good son, my firstborn. Minseokie is a bit more playful, but Minhyukie has always been helpful, protective.”

“Minhyuk has cooked for me before. He is a very good cook. If he learned from you, he learned well. You’d be proud of him.” Myungjun smiled. He wondered if Madam Jeon would be as proud of her son if she knew what he really did for a living.

But he wondered. Why did Minhyuk think all he was good for was being a bodyguard when it was obvious to anyone who saw him that he was so talented at other things as well? Sure, his mother might seem biased, but Myungjun was a professional singer and dancer and entertainer, and while he was attracted to Minhyuk, he could objectively say that Minhyuk was talented, and it wasn’t just raw talent. Yes, Minhyuk was passionate, but clearly he’d also had years of training.

“Minhyuk probably is the best cook of all his friends,” Madam Jeon said. “Binnie’s not a bad cook. He’s not very confident, so he doesn’t cook often, but when he does, he does it well. Sanha-ya, though. He’s a bit dangerous.”

“The one time he cooked for me it wasn’t bad,” Myungjun hedged.

“It probably wasn’t good either, though, was it?” Madam Jeon asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, and Myungjun couldn’t help his startled laughter.

Minhyuk reappeared, his hair still damp from the shower, water gleaming on his collarbones. He looked oddly young and vulnerable in jeans and a t-shirt, and Myungjun could see that he really was barely older than Sanha, though how old Sanha actually was, Myungjun didn’t know.

“Do you need help now, Eomma?” Myungjun asked.

“No, just fix yourself some tea and sit with Myungjun-ssi,” Madam Jeon said. “Show him some more of you dancing and singing videos. He seemed so surprised that you could do either! Is taekwondo all he ever sees you doing?”

“Something like that,” Minhyuk murmured. He reached out, turned his mother’s phone facedown on the table. “Did you sleep all right, Myungjun-ssi?”

“Just fine, thank you, Minhyuk-ssi,” Myungjun replied, just as quietly, reveling in the sound of Rocky’s real name falling from his lips. “And you, Minhyuk-ssi?”

Minhyuk swallowed hard. “I slept well, thank you.” He leaned in and lowered his voice even more. “I’m sure it goes without saying that you can’t tell anyone where you are. I’ll reach out to the others later today, but you can’t contact _anyone._ I have no idea to what extent our communication lines were compromised.”

Myungjun nodded. “I understand.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Madam Jeon moved comfortably about the kitchen, humming happily to herself while she worked. He could see some of Minhyuk’s kitchen competence in her, the familiar way she handled a knife. “I still don’t understand why someone as talented as you thinks all you’re good for is being a bodyguard.”

Minhyuk looked away. 

Myungjun reached out and tapped Madam Jeon’s phone. “I couldn’t dance like that, not in a million years. That’s a lifetime of training and dedication and passion in there. And for what? For nothing?”

Minhyuk pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to show Myungjun the garden, all right? Get some fresh air.”

Madam Jeon nodded. “All right. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”

Myungjun pushed himself to his feet as well and followed Minhyuk out back. The garden was small but still bigger than anything he’d have seen in the city. The countryside had its perks. In the distance, he could see a river. Just where were they?

Somewhere south, he thought. Minhyuk had a bit of a southern accent. 

“You haven’t done your military service yet,” Minhyuk said. 

Myungjun nodded. 

“So many people can dance and sing. You know that. You’ve seen how many idol hopefuls audition each year for companies and how many amateurs do covers online.” Minhyuk leaned against the porch post and stared at the river, arms crossed over his chest, gaze distant. 

“Not many people can take another person’s life,” Minhyuk said. 

Myungjun froze. 

“Not as easily as I did, or as well as I did.” Minhyuk caught Myungjun’s gaze and held it. 

Finally Myungjun swallowed and said, “You did it in service to your country.”

“Out there, in the desert, we were just men. They were just men, and they bled the same as Korean men, and when they died they called for their mothers the same as my men.” Minhyuk looked away again. “It was easy for me to take lives. I was just as ready to kill for my men as I was to die for my men. There is no way to ever repay for the lives I’ve taken. But I can put my life on the line for others. This is what I’m good at. This is what I must do. Do you understand now?”

Myungjun let out a breath. He remembered how Bin had said Minhyuk could kill a man with his bare hands. Had he meant it theoretically or did he have firsthand knowledge? 

“But you were a soldier. That was your job,” Myungjun said finally.

Minhyuk nodded stiffly. “It was my job. And this is my job now. It’s the same job — to protect, with the knowledge that that protection may come at the cost of harming other people or even taking their lives. It’s not a job that just anyone can do. I know I can do it well.”

Myungjun knew that a lot of ex-military or ex-law enforcement worked as bodyguards, but he didn’t think that most of them thought this way, not to this extreme.

“When you take a human life, it changes you,” Minhyuk said. “It stains your character, changes the color of your blood. There are many different ways to kill a man. Some ways you can shake off, forget, let go, and sleep well at night. And other ways — other ways you must always carry with you. I’m not that boy anymore, that boy who sang and danced easily, carefree. I can never be that boy again. Maybe a boy like that could have one day grown into a man who deserved someone like you. But I’m not that boy anymore.”

Myungjun’s throat closed. “Minhyuk-ssi —”

“Minhyukie, Myungjun-ssi, breakfast is ready!”

Minhyuk spun around, a sweet smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Coming, Eomma!”

The speed of the transformation was frightening. And heartbreaking. Myungjun followed Minhyuk back into the house.

What had it cost him, to tell Myungjun all of that? Did Bin and Sanha feel the same way? What about Kangjoon? Did Jinwoo know any of it? Did Bin and Sanha know any of it?

Minhyuk hurried and set the table while Madam Jeon brought the food to the table. Somehow Minhyuk arranged it so he was sitting beside his mother and as far from Myungjun as possible, given how small the table was. 

Myungjun managed to smile as well. “Smells delicious.” He scooped up his chopsticks. “I’ll eat well!”

“I’ll eat well,” Minhyuk echoed, and he dug in.

The sweet, contented smile that spread across his face on the first bite looked genuine.

Myungjun dug in as well, and the food was delicious. He complimented Madam Jeon, but longing curled in his chest. He hadn’t had his own mother’s cooking in so long. He also hadn’t had any food that hadn’t been taste-tested by Minhyuk in so long. Granted, Minhyuk’s mother had cooked this food, so this was probably the safety-equivalent of Minhyuk cooking his food, but…

But for the first time in a long time, Myungjun wasn’t locked up in his dorm. He didn’t have three bodyguards hovering over him and countless tiny invisible cameras watching his every move. He didn’t have his phone or laptop with him, so no digital threats were hovering around every virtual corner, and this wasn’t his dorm or his company, so mail threats weren’t headed his way either. And even though he technically had one of his bodyguards with him, well, Minhyuk was different from the others, wasn’t he? Minhyuk, who looked young and still sort of sleep-rumpled, his hair drying in fluffy tufts from the shower, Minhyuk sitting at his own mother’s dining table, Minhyuk in an old worn t-shirt and jeans that were probably left over from his high school days, Minhyuk who’d been compromised by his own affection for Myungjun and who had been bait just as much as he’d been bodyguard.

“What are you going to do with your day?” Madam Jeon asked. “I’m assuming you came all the way here because you have the weekend off?” 

Minhyuk nodded. “Yeah, a few days. Myungjun had a performance last night, and then he’s not on rotation in the play for three more days. Just finished a tournament myself, so I have a few days to recover.”

“Ah, how did your team do?” Madam Jeon asked.

Myungjun listened in quiet horror as Minhyuk spun a perfectly beautiful lie about his taekwondo students at the dojang, boys and girls ranging from age eight to age eighteen who competed in various events, from sparring to forms to board-breaking.

There were some losses, some decent performances without medals, and some modest wins. It was also so utterly believable.

The really scary part was that Madam Jeon seemed to find Minhyuk’s students’ names familiar, remarked on their progress and improvement, was pleased that a younger boy had held up well under his loss and didn’t need so much coddling and comforting this time. Minhyuk was a frighteningly good liar.

When Madam Jeon turned her attention on Myungjun and asked about his musical, he fumbled a bit, and then ended up just telling her the truth — about the production of Jamie, and the role he played. 

“You look so good in that dress,” she said. “Of course, it was tailored for you. Not many men could pull off that dress. Minhyukie is handsome, but he makes an ugly girl.”

“It’s true,” Minhyuk said.

Myungjun looked at him. “You’ve dressed up as a girl?”

“As a joke. For one of Bin-hyung’s swim competitions one time, you know? To cheer him on.” Minhyuk shrugged, but he was blushing a little. “Bin-hyung makes an even worse girl.”

“Minhyuk has very knobby knees and hairy legs,” Madam Jeon said. “And Binnie is just too big across the shoulders to make a believable girl. When Sanha-ya was younger, he could make a sort of cute girl, but then he got so tall. How hard was it, learning to walk in high heels? Most girls learn over time, starting as teenagers, but you probably had to learn in a very short time.”

“It was difficult,” Myungjun admitted. “I have so much respect for women who wear them for work all day. And it was awkward at first. I told myself they were special shoes, like soccer cleats, you know? But now I can wear them just fine. Can’t run in them, but I can walk pretty fast in them.”

“Most women can’t run in them either. That’s not what they’re made for,” Madam Jeon said.

Minhyuk smiled. “Thank you for the meal, Eomma. We ate well.”

Madam Jeon reached out and smoothed down a lock of his hair. “I’m always glad to cook for my son. I don’t get to see you nearly often enough. The city keeps you away from me.” Her smile was wistful.

Myungjun saw answering shadows in Minhyuk’s eyes.

“But you boys go have fun! It’s your day off. You should take Myungjun-ssi to see the Nam River. It’s so pretty! And go see the old fortress. Buy him some ice cream.”

Minhyuk glanced at Myungjun, then pushed him to his feet. “All right. We’ll make a day of it. Come on. You can borrow a pair of my shoes. We’re about the same size.”

“Just be back in time for supper. Usual time. Call if you decide to have supper out.”

“Will do.” Minhyuk led Myungjun to the front door.

“Are we really going to play tourist all day?” Myungjun asked in a low voice as Minhyuk knelt and found Myungjun a pair of sneakers.

It could have been like something out of a drama, Minhyuk helping Myungjun into a pair of shoes, his hands curling gently around Myungjun’s feet, tying his shoelaces, but while Madam Jeon was clattering cheerfully around in the kitchen, all the contentment from a homemade breakfast had vanished from Minhyuk’s demeanor.

“No,” Minhyuk said. “I’m going to go get a burner phone and contact the others. I’ll take you somewhere safe away from here, like a love motel. You can stay there while I handle business.”

Minhyuk’s mother’s house was at the end of a small, quiet street. There was only one car on the street, and it wasn’t the one that they’d driven there.

“What happened to the car we drove here?”

“I got rid of it. Didn’t want the cops tracking us here, because then your stalker could also track us here,” Minhyuk said. “There’s a convenience store a few blocks over. I have some cash. We can get a couple of burner phones there. Then we can take a bus downtown. We can get a room at a love motel with cash. You stay there. I’ll contact the others.”

They walked side by side and probably looked to all the world like a pair of easy-going young men on a relaxing morning stroll. Overhead the sky was clear and blue, the sunlight warm and bright.

Minhyuk’s gaze was calm but alert, and he was walking right beside Myungjun the way he always had when Myungjun was out in public, just behind his left shoulder.

“So I’ll be a prisoner in a room at a love motel instead of my dorm. I thought the whole point of coming to the _beta site_ was so no one would be able to find me,” he said.

“The beta site isn’t actually my mother’s house,” Minhyuk said. “That was a stop-gap. I don’t know how or why things got as compromised as they did. I’m just as blind as you are, but I’m doing my best to keep you safe. I also have to keep my mother safe. So we’re doing things this way until I re-establish communication with my team and I receive further instructions.”

“Why not go to a PC-bang and email them?” Myungjun asked.

“Voice communication is better,” Minhyuk said. “It’s harder to tell when email has been compromised.”

“What about a video call?” Myungjun asked.

“Burner phones have video chat capability,” Minhyuk said. He led Myungjun into a convenience store that was indeed several streets away from his mother’s house, bypassing two convenience stores that were closer.

Minhyuk gestured for Myungjun to step behind him, and he opened the door to the store first, gave it a scan before he let Myungjun in, and they both bowed to the ahjusshi behind the counter. Minhyuk bought a snapback to cover Myungjun’s Jamie-blond hair, and then two cheap smartphones and charged them up with a month’s worth of minutes and data.

“Got a girl you don’t want your mother to know about?” the ahjusshi asked, ringing Minhyuk up, amused that he was paying with cash.

“Lost my phone,” Minhyuk said with a shrug, and the ahjusshi nodded.

Minhyuk led Myungjun out of the convenience store, and they headed for the bus stop.

Minhyuk’s end of town was quiet, and while they waited for the bus to arrive, Minhyuk worked on setting up their two phones. He programmed in their respective numbers.

“Now remember,” he said, handing Myungjun one of the phones. “Don’t call _anyone_ but me. I’m sure you have other people’s phone numbers memorized, but we have no idea who’s compromised. If anyone has a way of shaking a compromise, it’s Sanha, so I’m gonna call him once we’re somewhere quiet. All right?”

Myungjun nodded. He had Jinwoo’s number memorized, and Hoetaek’s, and his mother’s, and that was all. Not his father’s, or his brother’s, or any of his other teammates. Had they been trying to call him? Were they worried about him? He was tempted to get online and search out news stories about what had happened at the theater, but he also didn’t want to burn through the entire data plan. He’d look once he had some wifi.

When the bus arrived, Minhyuk ushered Myungjun on, paid for two tickets, and shuffled them to a window seat right near the rear doors. 

As the bus pulled away from the stop, Myungjun said,

“So is this where you grew up?”

Minhyuk turned to him, startled.

“It’s just — you don’t have much of an accent, but I can hear it, sometimes. A bit of satoori. Everyone else here has it, too. And your mom did. Some people move around a lot as kids, so I didn’t know if this was where you always grew up or if your parents just settled here after you graduated from school, but then if you went to the same school as Eunwoo and Bin and Sanha and Jinwoo, you must have lived away from your parents? For school.” Myungjun kept his voice low.

Minhyuk swallowed hard. Then he said, “My mother and I moved to Seoul so I could attend that high school, after I passed my audition. Father and Minseokie stayed here. After I graduated, Eomma moved back to be with the family.”

“Are they disappointed? That after all that sacrifice all do is ‘teach taekwondo’?”

“No. My parents love me. They’re proud of everything I do.” Minhyuk’s gaze went distant for a moment, but then he shook himself out and continued keeping an eye on the other passengers in the bus, on what was happening outside the bus. “My father was very proud when I qualified for the special forces, when I served extra time. He was a Marine, so he took a lot of pride in his military service. They were proud when I came home with shining medals and commendations. I could never tell them what I’d done to earn those medals, of course.”

Myungjun heard the soft edge of bitterness in Minhyuk’s tone. He didn’t think he deserved those medals, that what he’d done to earn them was heinous.

“But my parents understood. Some things are classified, after all.”

 _Minhyuk can kill a man with his bare hands,_ Bin had said.

Myungjun looked at where Minhyuk’s hands were curled into fists on his lap.

“So now I teach taekwondo and maybe one of my students will go on to represent our district or country in an important competition, and that will be enough,” Minhyuk said.

“Everything you told your mother was an utter lie. _How_ can you lie to her like that?” Myungjun asked.

“Because I can’t bear the thought of her knowing the truth of what I am and what I’ve done. I want her to be happy and have warm thoughts of her good, kind son, the son who used to be happy when he sang and danced and did taekwondo,” Minhyuk said.

Myungjun stared at Minhyuk, the man he’d thought no better than an emotionless robot, and felt an utter fool.

As soon as they reached downtown, which was a bustling little city along a river, Myungjun figured out where they were, if only from the tourist signs which boasted about historic Jinju and the Nam River and the old fortress. Even though Minhyuk had told his mother he’d take Myungjun to see the river and the fortress and to get ice cream — which actually all sounded like a pleasant way to spend the day — Minhyuk handed Myungjun a dust mask and jammed on a snapback and a mask himself and headed for a fairly seedy-looking love motel off of one of the main thoroughfares.

The rotund, balding, middle-aged man with the bad breath who was working the counter didn’t even blink at Minhyuk paying in cash for a room for six hours, just handed over an old key.

Myungjun shivered at the way the man sneered at the two of them as they headed for the stairs — the place didn’t even have elevators, just worn green carpeting on the back stairs that doubled as a fire escape.

Minhyuk found the room, which had one double bed, a bathroom, and a closet with a broken door. The fluorescent light overhead flickered like something out of a horror movie.

“You want me to stay here while you go running off?” Myungjun asked, hovering beside the bed, nervous about sitting on the polyester bedspread.

As a trainee in the dorm he’d slept on a pretty nasty floor, but that was years ago now.

“I don’t have a lot of cash left,” Minhyuk said. “But it has wifi.”

Myungjun finally perched on the edge of the bed.

Minhyuk fired up his phone, dialed, held the phone to his ear.

Myungjun considered logging onto the wifi to look up news stories about himself, but then he thought better of it. He wanted to hear what Minhyuk had to say, what his fate was.

“Hyung,” Minhyuk said. “We’re safe. I have Myungjun-ssi at a neutral location. He’s unharmed. Orders?”

Myungjun strained to hear who was on the other end. Bin? Kangjoon? Either of them could be hyung. Jinwoo? Someone else entirely? Did Minhyuk take orders from Jinwoo? He didn’t really address Jinwoo with such military precision, did he?

“No, I don’t know how HQ was compromised. When I got there, Shownu-hyung came to meet me, and I heard gunfire, and he went down. Wonho-hyung managed to get him inside.”

Myungjun blinked. Minhyuk had called them by other names. Hyunwoo? Hoseok? Those must have been their real names. But of course now that he wasn’t in the middle of gunfire he had the presence of mind to use their codenames. Aliases. Radio call signs? Whatever. 

“No, Myungjun-ssi hasn’t contacted anyone at his company, and neither have I. I don’t know how far the compromise has spread. They had less security than we do — or did, and if we were compromised, I can only assume they were as well,” Minhyuk said. “No, he hasn’t contacted anyone in his family either. They have no security at all. No, he hasn’t contacted anyone from the cast or crew of the play.”

Minhyuk sounded a little frustrated, and Myungjun figured he was inches away from saying _I’m not an amateur._

“If you send me coordinates for a rendezvous, I can bring him there,” Minhyuk said. “Did they catch either stalker at the theater? Both of them were there. I heard both of their voices.”

Myungjun’s heart sped up. He lifted his head and tugged on Minhyuk’s sleeve, mouthed _Me too._

“Myungjun-ssi did as well,” Minhyuk said. “No? But there were police at every exit from the theater. Unless both of them managed to escape from the audience, but it sounded like at least the delusional fan stalker was in the audience. I don’t know about the anti stalker.” He glanced at Myungjun.

Myungjun shrugged helplessly.

“Myungjun doesn’t know either.”

“You want proof of life?” Minhyuk flipped on the video chat. “Three gestures that he mirrors, and then we’re done.”

He held the phone out to Myungjun.

Kangjoon was on the screen. “Myungjun-ssi, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Myungjun said. “Rocky’s been keeping me very safe.” He knew better than to let on that he knew Minhyuk’s real name.

“Quickly,” Minhyuk said.

“Follow me,” Kangjoon said. He had Myungjun touch his nose, stick out his tongue, and touch his ear.

Myungjun obeyed, and then Minhyu ended the video chat and took the phone back.

“See? Really him, in real time. I’m good at my job, and I’m not compromised, despite what you think.” Minhyuk’s tone took on a strangely firm, indignant tone to it, one Myungjun had never heard before.

He was acting, Myungjun realized. Being defensive. Deflecting from — something. What, Myungjun wasn’t sure.

“So hurry up and fix this security compromise, because I’m cut off from my regular supplies and suppliers,” Minhyuk said. “You have six hours before I move him to a delta site and we start again.”

“Delta? But that’s —”

“Very rustic, yes.” Minhyuk smiled, not nicely, and ended the call.

“Would you really do that?” Myungjun asked.

Minhyuk fired off a text message and turned the phone off, pocketed it. “Of course. It’s protocol. If we stay in one place for too long, we can be tracked. Even though I’ve been compromised and I’ve been acting as bait, I’m still one of your bodyguards, and your safety is my highest priority. Once one of the others contacts me with a rendezvous protocol, we’ll go meet them.”

“Why don’t they just come here?”

“Because it’ll compromise this beta site,” Minhyuk said.

And his mother’s safety. Right. Myungjun sighed. “So, we wait for six hours?”

Minhyuk shook his head. “Kangjoon-hyung has an hour to set up a new protocol, or at least give me a status update. We wait for an hour, and then I’ll turn my phone back on and check for news.”

“You turned your phone off so it couldn’t be tracked, even though it’s a burner phone.”

Minhyuk nodded, and his lips curved in a faint smile. “You catch on fast.”

“What about my phone?”

“You can browse the internet or play games or something. I didn’t want you to be completely bored.” Minhyuk sprawled out on the bed and closed his eyes.

Myungjun stared at him. “You just woke up and had breakfast a couple of hours ago.”

“I drove all night,” he said. “And I had to get up and get rid of the car while you and my mother were sleeping.”

“Oh. Right. Well...I guess I’ll check the news to see what they’re saying about me and what happened. Even if I can’t contact my castmates and teammates, I can see if they’re all right.”

Minhyuk opened one eye. “Don’t try to contact them.”

“You just said I catch on fast.”

“Not your family or Jinwoo-hyung either.”

“I won’t,” Myungjun said.

Minhyuk closed his eye and was out like a light, just like back in Myungjun’s dorm, still and unmoving but not nearly as relaxed and sweet as he’d been at his mother’s house. Myungjun missed that version of Minhyuk already. This was Rocky again, even though he wasn’t wearing his usual bodyguard get-up. Did he have his usual weapons?

The truth was, the news didn’t have much. No one had been injured in the blast at the theater, though the stage had been damaged and plenty of people were frightened. None of Myungjun’s teammates had been injured either. His company had issued an official statement about him, and it was that he was in isolation to maintain his privacy and safety until law enforcement caught the stalkers who were targeting him. Neither theater security nor police had managed to catch either man, though there were various reports that both men had been in the theater that night, with eyewitness accounts from members of the audience, theater staff and crew, and even some of Myungjun’s castmates.

Myungjun’s family and his company had declined further comment, as had his teammates.

“We’re just glad no one was hurt,” was all Hoetaek had said, and Jinwoo had added, “We know that the police are working to bring these disturbed and mentally ill individuals to justice and also get them the help they need.”

Myungjun knew better than to log into his email or SNS accounts to see if he’d received any messages from stalkers or the others, but he did check the team’s official accounts to see what fans were saying.

Most of it was messages of concerns and support, that they hoped he was all right, but of course there were the detractors, the ones who thought Myungjun was selfish for continuing on with the musical when it put others’ lives in danger (a good number of those were Eunwoo’s fans).

Eunwoo, because he was a darling, had posted a message of support for his Myungjun-hyung, was sorry that he was being unfairly targeted like this and glad that he was safe and hoping that he was recovering and healing during this stressful time, which of course had resulted in some fanwars on SNS _(how can you be so cruel to Myungjun on Eunwoo’s behalf if your darling Eunwoo is so kind to him? How would that make Eunwoo feel?)._

Finally Myungjun sighed and set his phone aside. With all those police present, how was it that they hadn’t managed to catch either man?

What the hell was going on? How were they so smart?

Myungjun looked down at Minhyuk, who was lying utterly still and breathing slow and even.

What was Myungjun supposed to do with himself now?

He lay down and closed his eyes as well. Even though he’d slept in the car, he really hadn’t slept that long either, and — and last night someone had tried to _kill him._

Myungjun buried his face in his hands and cried softly.

Minhyuk sat up. “What? Myungjun-ssi —?”

Myungjun turned away from him, shoulders up around his ears, trying to silence the sound of his sobs. He felt Minhyuk’s arms around him, Minhyuk’s chest warm and solid against his back.

“Hey. Let it all out. It’s fine. You’ve been through a hard time.”

That wasn’t what Myungjun had expected from Minhyuk, who’d served in the special forces, and that just made him cry harder.

“I threw up pretty bad after my first real fight. What happened was scary. It’s okay to cry,” Minhyuk said. “Life is like this sometimes, and so you cry. As long as you don’t cry in the middle of battle, it’s fine.”

And that made Myungjun laugh, but he was also still crying, and he was giggle-sobbing against his hands, and he was so mixed up he didn’t know what to do.

Minhyuk’s arms around him tightened, but he didn’t say anything more, just let Myungjun cry himself out and giggle himself out till he was breathless.

“It’s not fair,” Myungjun said finally, pulling away and lifting his head, scrubbing at his face.

“Life isn’t fair,” Minhyuk said. 

“I mean — you’re being all sweet to me again,” Myungjun said. “Holding me while I cry.”

Minhyuk blinked. “Is that considered sweet? Usually when people cry, I don’t comfort them. The others say I’m bad at it. Sanha gives people candy, or Bin-hyung offers them food.”

“Maybe if I was a child that would be the right thing to do, but I’m not a child.” Myungjun tilted his head. “Do you just think you’re not sweet or something?”

“I know my strengths, and being sweet isn’t one of them,” Minhyuk said. “But knowing the basic physiological responses to stress is vital to staying calm during a stressful situation. Physical contact can help settle another person’s fight-or-flight response and bring them back to mental equilibrium so they can follow commands and contribute to their own rescue during an emergency.”

“Okay, that was less sweet,” Myungjun admitted.

“Crying is a natural response to a stressful situation. Repressing it is unhelpful.” Minhyuk shrugged. “It’s not like we’re lying in wait for an ambush and the sound of it will give away our position.”

Myungjun stared at him and wondered what his life must have been like before, that this was how he saw the world. But he reached out and curled his hand over Minhyuk’s. “Whatever the reason, thank you for comforting me.”

“Just doing my job,” Minhyuk said, a little too quickly, automatically, almost reflexively, but Myungjun saw the flicker in his gaze.

“Not just your job, though, is it?”

Minhyuk shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter if it’s more than that, is it?”

And Myungjun realized — Minhyuk still didn’t believe that Myungjun cared about him. 

“Of course it matters,” he said. “Because you care about me, and I care about you too.”

Minhyuk eyed him warily. “Do you? Do you actually care about me, or are you just grateful to me for protecting you?”

Myungjun reached out and curled a hand around the side of Minhyuk’s neck. “Hey. Look at me. I care about _you,_ the person who sat still for me so I could draw and not be bored, and who cut my fruit into cute shapes even though he didn’t have to, the person who dances with such amazing passion.”

Minhyuk pulled away. “I’m not that person anymore.”

Myungjun reached for him again. “I think you are. Underneath all this shame and guilt you have for doing your job, that boy is still there. You still dance with Bin-ssi, don’t you?”

Minhyuk shrugged, avoiding Myungjun’s gaze.

“I saw you dancing in those videos, and you’re beautiful. I know you think _I’m_ beautiful, but I don’t hold a candle to the talent and passion I saw there. I didn’t train nearly as long and hard as you did.” Myungjun couldn’t help the wistful tone in his voice. “I’m a little jealous. If I’d known what my dream was as early in life as you had, then maybe I’d have started training sooner. But I promise, Minhyuk-ssi, that you’re worth more than just throwing yourself between me and a bullet. You’re worth so much more. And since I’ve decided I like you, you’re worth my time and affection.”

Minhyuk blinked. “Affection?”

Myungjun smoothed his thumb over the back of Minhyuk’s hand. “You’re a professional. No one knows where we are. We can share some affection.”

“But it’s still my job to look out for you and make sure you’re safe.”

“We’re in a love motel. Won’t it be at least a little suspicious if there’s no loving going on in this room, hm?” Myungjun arched an eyebrow.

Minhyuk’s cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. He did have lovely high cheekbones. “Ah, Myungjun-ssi —”

“Under the circumstances, if you want, you can call me hyung.”

Minhyuk swallowed hard. “M-Myungjun-hyung. I really shouldn’t — I should stay alert. For your safety.”

Myungjun reached up, brushed a lock of hair out of Minhyuk’s eyes. His hair was so soft. “Who’s going to find us here? Your mother doesn’t even know where we are. Your phone is off. We were wearing masks at the desk. Do you not want me?”

Minhyuk swallowed hard again. “H-hyung, I —”

“If you want me, you can have me.”

Minhyuk’s eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled shakily. “Kangjoon-hyung will be checking in soon. I have to keep an eye on the time.”

“Bin-ssi said you’ve never been compromised. You really do have an iron will,” Myungjun said. “Or is it that you really don’t want me?”

Minhyuk’s eyes flew open, and Myungjun saw sparks in his gaze before he caught Myungjun by the shoulders and hauled him in for a kiss. It was clumsy and messy and wet, a clash of tongues and teeth and Myungjun couldn’t breathe, but it was so good. Myungjun wrapped his arms around Minhyuk and held him tightly, hummed happily when Minhyuk embraced him in return.

When they had to part for air, Minhyuk whispered, “I’m sorry, hyung, I do want you so much, but I can’t —”

“You can,” Myungjun said. “You can have me.”

Minhyuk squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I shouldn’t. I promised Bin-hyung I wouldn’t.”

“Bin-ssi doesn’t own your heart,” Myungjun said. “You do.”

“No,” Minhyuk breathed. _“You_ do.”

Myungjun had to kiss him again after that.

They tumbled to the bed, kissing and caressing, learning each other’s mouths and skin, daring to slide hands under shirts.

Just when Myungjun thought Minhyuk had let go of his self-imposed restrictions, had relaxed, he pulled back and said, 

“Stop.”

“Why?” Myungjun flopped onto his back, panting.

“It’s time for Kangjoon-hyung to check in.” Minhyuk rolled onto his stomach and felt around, found his phone, turned it back on. 

Myungjun blinked, listened to the electronic trill of the phone firing up.

There were several pings of text messages received.

“Well?” Myungjun asked.

Minhyuk sighed and tapped out a text message. “We have to wait a little longer.”

“You’re not moving me?” Myungjun asked.

“Kangjoon-hyung has six hours to arrange things, and then we move,” Minhyuk said. “That’s why I paid for the room as long as I did. He knows the rules.” Minhyuk shut the phone off and set it on the nightstand.

“So now what?” Myungjun asked.

Minhyuk looked at him. “We’re stuck in this room till you get hungry, and then you will stay here and _not move_ while I go get food.”

“What about your mother? You’re just going to leave her with no word?” Myungjun asked.

“I’ll handle it,” Minhyuk said. “She’ll understand. She’s a forgiving person.”

“So you have to wait another hour for Kangjoon to check in, and if he doesn’t have something set up, you wait another hour, and this goes on till we hit the six-hour mark?” Myungjun asked.

Minhyuk nodded. “War is _hurry up and wait._ You’ll see when you do your service.”

“We’re not at war,” Myungjun said.

Minhyuk looked at him. “We’re fighting an enemy. This is war.”

For a moment, Myungjun was frightened by the intensity in Minhyuk’s gaze, but he knew that intensity could be redirected as passion, and he reached out, wound his arms around Minhyuk’s neck and drew Minhyuk down on top of him.

“Before we were interrupted by Kangjoon and protocol, we were doing something much more fun. Now we have another hour before the next check-in, right?”

Minhyuk bit his lip. “Hyung, I really shouldn’t.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Myungjun winked. “Come on. This is a love motel. We haven’t done any actual loving.” He rolled his hips for emphasis, and Minhyuk’s lips parted with a moan, his eyes fluttering closed.

“But if I get distracted, you could get hurt.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you,” Myungjun murmured, leaning in to nibble at Minhyuk’s ear, which made him moan again. “What is it you want? I’ll give you anything.” He parted his thighs and let Minhyuk’s hips press right against his.

Minhyuk gasped. “Hyung, I — take me.”

Myungjun raised his eyebrows. 

“Please,” Minhyuk said softly. “I want to feel you in me and on top of me. You own my heart. Take my body too.”

Myungjun gazed into Minhyuk’s endlessly dark eyes. “You’ve surprised me so many times today, Minhyuk-ssi.”

“My name is Park Minhyuk,” he said. “You can call me Minhyukie if you want.”

And then he rolled them so Myungjun was on top, and he arched deliciously into Myungjun, and Myungjun said, 

“Anything you want, my darling Minhyukie.”

* * *

An hour later, they managed to stumble into the bathroom to rinse off in the shower, but they just ended up getting frisky with the soap suds and taking turns sinking to their knees and bringing each other off.

When the water started to turn cold, they finally rinsed off properly and helped each other dry off. Myungjun helped Minhyuk towel his hair, reveling in how soft it was, and then they helped each other dress. Even though Myungjun had just spent the last while naked with Minhyuk, he hadn’t really _looked_ at Minhyuk, and as he helped cover Minhyuk up, he noticed Minhyuk’s scars for the first time.

“Knife,” Minhyuk said. “That was from a bodyguard job.”

“And this?”

“Bullet, obviously. From a mission. Classified.”

“And this?”

“Oh? A burn. From cooking. It’s not all grim.” Minhyuk smiled and helped Myungjun into his shirt even though Myungjun was perfectly capable of putting on a t-shirt himself. Then he knelt and helped Myungjun on with his socks, his hands gentle as he cradled Myungjun’s feet.

“Now what?” Myungjun asked.

“Are you hungry?” Minhyuk asked. “It’s lunch time, and we did just burn a lot of calories.”

Myungjun grinned at Minhyuk. “We did. Yeah, I could use some food. What kind would you like?”

“You pick,” Minhyuk said easily. He reached for his phone, turned it on, and his easy expression vanished.

Tension stole through Myungjun’s limbs. “What is it?”

“We have a rendezvous set. Come on. Let me borrow your phone?” Minhyuk tapped a message out on his phone, then turned it off and shoved it into his pocket. 

Myungjun handed his phone over, then scrambled to the door to grab his shoes. 

“Hey, Eomma. Yeah, this is Myungjun’s phone. We have to head back to the city. Really suddenly, I know, I’m sorry, we can’t stay for dinner. A courier will pick up the dress and shoes before his next performance. Hopefully I’ll be able to visit much sooner. Love you!” Minhyuk’s tone was light and sweet and casual, the perfect doting son, but he was already pulling on his shoes.

It occurred to Myungjun that since he’d helped Minhyuk dress, he knew perfectly well that Minhyuk had no weapons.

“Stay here,” Minhyuk said. “I need to scout the rendezvous point, and I’ll get you some food. No matter who knocks on the door, don’t answer. I’m taking the key, so don’t leave, okay?”

Myungjun nodded.

“Don’t answer your phone. I won’t call without texting first, if I call at all,” Minhyuk said. He handed Myungjun back his phone, and he headed out the door, tugging on Myungjun’s cap and a mask as he went.

Myungjun sank down on the edge of the bed, feeling like a cat that had been doused with icy water. All the warmth of his afterglow had vanished.

All he could do was stare at his phone and wait for word from Minhyuk. He checked for more news stories about what had happened, but they were all mostly parrots of each other. He tried reading a few of the comments, but the vitriol made him want to vomit, so he forced himself to stop, and he ended up curled up on the bed watching some of his team’s old live stages, back from their debut days when they were young and fresh and enthusiastic, back from before he had any stalkers, when all he cared about was doing his best and making his fans smile.

Except he’d had a stalker even then, hadn’t he?

And then he realized.

Park Minhyuk. Had gone to the same high school as Cha Eunwoo and Park Jinwoo. He was a dancer and a singer. 

It took a bit of digging, but sure enough, Myungjun found old videos of Park Minhyuk and none other than Moon Bin on the school’s dance team for dance competitions. Park Minhyuk and Moon Bin — wow, Bin had been skinny once upon a time — had often competed as a duo. The two of them had moved smoothly, like a well-oiled unit, like two parts of a whole. Their chemistry was undeniable, their smiles bright and earnest, and also their efforts at hip-hop swag adorable even though they were only in high school and too skinny to really be tough or manly.

But there weren’t many videos of Park Minhyuk dancing after high school, though. Myungjun found a few shaky videos that were the same performances as the one Madam Jeon had shown him, but lower quality. So Minhyuk and Bin still danced occasionally. Between bodyguard jobs? When did they find the time to choreograph? They were both still skilled dancers.

That they could still dance at such a high level even though they apparently spent their time guarding people like Myungjun round the clock said something about their skill. Why did Minhyuk think he was worth nothing as a dancer anymore when he could still dance so well, with such strength and passion?

Myungjun closed his eyes and remembered Minhyuk’s body against his. Minhyuk still had plenty of passion. He smiled to himself.

The door opened. 

Myungjun opened his eyes and sat up, his heart racing.

But it was just Minhyuk, in his cap and mask, carrying a couple of bags of food.

He nudged the door shut and set the food on the table before he shed the cap and mask.

“Tteokbokki and fried chicken and cola,” he said. 

“Are you going to taste-test it first?” Myungjun asked, ambling over and sitting opposite Minhyuk at the table.

Minhyuk raised his eyebrows, then popped the lid off the container of tteokbokki and took a bite, took a bite out of a chicken leg.

Myungjun stared at him. “I was joking.”

Minhyuk smirked. “It’s delicious.”

“So, when do we meet Kangjoon-ssi?”

“In forty-five minutes, so eat fast.” Minhyuk handed over a pair of chopsticks and set to.

“Do you know where I’ll be going?” Myungjun asked, digging in.

Minhyuk shook his head. “Kangjoon-ssi will take you somewhere safe.”

“When will I see you again?” Myungjun asked. “Once they catch the stalkers?”

Minhyuk blinked. “Myungjun-ssi, I don’t think you understand. Once you’re safe with Kangjoon-ssi, my part in this is done, just as it would have been if you’d made it safely to HQ last night.”

“Myungjun-ssi?” he echoed. “What happened to you calling me hyung?”

Minhyuk looked away. “That was...before. This is — this is business now. It’s my job to keep you safe, remember? We’re about to leave this room. You need to trust me and listen to me when we get out there, no matter what.”

Myungjun felt a lump rise in his throat, tried to swallow it down. “Right. Business.”

Minhyuk sighed. “This is why we’re not supposed to get involved with each other. We’re supposed to stay calm and objective. When we’re out in the field, we need to be able to trust each other without emotions clouding our judgment. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just —”

“You said you belong to me, but you’re just going to walk away? After what happened between us?” Myungjun set down his chopsticks.

Minhyuk took a deep breath. “I need you to set aside what happened between us and focus.”

“How can I just set that aside?”

“Because you could die out there if you don’t!”

Myungjun recoiled, startled. Minhyuk never raised his voice.

“Hyung, please. I need you to listen to me and trust me. I _need_ you to be safe, okay? If something happened to you, I don’t think I could —” Minhyuk bit his lip and looked away again. Then he looked at Myungjun again. “I don’t know what the future holds. All I know is that once you’re with Kangjoon-hyung, you’ll be safe, and that’s all that matters, okay? My job is to make sure you get to him, and from there, I don’t know what happens, and I’m not supposed to.”

“Why?”

“Because the stalkers know my face. I’m compromised. If I’m caught, I can’t tell.”

Cold dread settled in Myungjun’s gut. “You don’t think the stalkers would — but they wouldn’t be able to catch you anyway, right?”

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” Minhyuk said. “Now hurry, eat. Who knows when Kangjoon-hyung will be able to stop for food, wherever you’re going.”

Myungjun studied Minhyuk, who ate quickly and efficiently. “Fine.” And he hurried and ate as well.

As soon as the food was done, they cleaned up, donned their caps and masks, and left the motel, taking a back staircase and leaving via a back alley. They headed away from the motel using several different streets from the ones they’d used to approach, and they climbed onto a bus and rode a couple of stops away, then climbed off.

The rendezvous point with Kangjoon was a small park, a wide open space with a few trees, some green wooden benches, and a decent crowd — some picnickers on blankets, students studying, a few families playing with dogs, some older couples strolling.

Minhyuk and Myungjun weren’t the only young men their age who were out and about, and they weren’t the only ones wearing masks.

There was a clown in a bright outfit making balloon animals to give to small children and also some of the young couples walking hand-in-hand.

“So what’s the plan?” Myungjun asked.

“See that fountain over there?” Minhyuk asked.

In the middle of the park was a circular decorative fountain with a sculpture of frolicking dolphins rising up from the middle.

Myungjun nodded. He and Minhyuk stood beside a small food cart selling corn dogs.

“Kangjoon-hyung will meet you there.”

“Am I supposed to go there alone?” Myungjun asked.

Minhyuk said, “I’ll wait with you there till he comes. He’ll be here soon.” He glanced at his watch.

They crossed the grass to the fountain, and Myungjun sat down on the edge. Minhyuk stood beside him, alert, casting about for threats as well as for Kangjoon’s approach.

“Will I get to see you once the stalkers have been caught?” Myungjun asked. “When all this is over?”

“I don’t know,” Minhyuk admitted, “but I want to. For the first time, I want to.”

Myungjun reached out, curled his hand over Minhyuk’s. “You mean it? Before you said that after this, you’d be gone.”

“That’s how it’s always been. After a job, the contract is over, and we never have a reason to see each other again. This time I have a reason.”

Myungjun felt Minhyuk tangle their fingers together. “Oh yeah? What’s your reason?”

Minhyuk leaned in and whispered, “I love you.”

Myungjun felt his throat close. He wanted to reach up and rip their masks off so they could kiss, but they were out in the open. Kissing in public just wasn’t done, and not just because they were both men, and even though Myungjun’s hair was covered he ran the risk of being recognized, and also they were in Minhyuk’s hometown, and _he_ also ran the risk of being recognized, and —

“Ready to go?”

Myungjun started wildly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Minhyuk automatically shifted in front of him. “Hyung. You’re here.”

Kangjoon stood over them. He looked calm and casual and even handsome in jeans and a t-shirt and leather jacket. He also looked disgusted.

“Yah, what the hell have you two been up to, all alone in this podunk little town?” 

He reached out and yanked Myungjun to his feet.

 _“This,”_ he spat at Minhyuk, “is why we don’t violate Code Sixteen. The stalker — or even _both_ stalkers — could have sneaked up on you and killed him.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Minhyuk said, sounding uncharacteristically meek. “Sorry, Myungjun-ssi.” Then he lifted his head and tugged off his mask, and his lips curved in the faintest smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe with Kangjoon-hyung now.”

Myungjun didn’t like how tight Kangjoon’s grip was on his arm, but he nodded. “All right. I’ll see you,” he said, and then Kangjoon was dragging him through the park before he could hear Minhyuk’s reply.

“No,” Kangjoon said. “You won’t.”

“Hey, can you go a little slower?” Myungjun said. “Or at least let me catch my balance. I’m an adult. I can walk myself.”

But Kangjoon’s long legs ate up ground quickly. He was headed across the park to where cars were parked along the street. He switched his grip on Myungjun’s arm, reached into his pocket for his phone.

He pressed speed dial and held his phone to his ear.

“Hey, where are you?”

Myungjun frowned. It didn’t sound like he was talking to one of his teammates. He craned his neck, tried to get a look at Kangjoon’s smartwatch to see who he was calling.

The number he was calling was Restricted.

Kangjoon kept on dragging Myungjun toward the street. But he didn’t head for any of the cars. Instead he kept walking along the sidewalk — and took a sharp turn down an alley.

“Look, if you have the money, he’s all yours, otherwise, he’s useless to me, and I’ll just end him,” Kangjoon said.

Myungjun froze. “What?” Then he started to struggle. “Let me go!”

Kangjoon tightened his grip on Myungjun’s arm. “Shut up,” he snapped. Into the phone he said, “You have thirty seconds to claim him, and then I’m gutting him and leaving him for dead. Everyone will assume you did it anyway.”

Terror shot down Myungjun’s spine.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, high and girlish.

Kangjoon elbowed him across the face without letting him go.

Myungjun’s head spun.

A moment later, hands closed around his shoulders, and a familiar voice said, “Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain, Kangjoon-ssi. Here is the rest of your money.”

Myungjun staggered, his ears still ringing from the blow.

A hand smoothed over his hair. “It’s all right, darling. No one will hurt you anymore. You’re safe here with me, where you belong.”

Myungjun blinked at the person standing in front of him. “S-Seungmin? But —” Bin and his teammates had ruled Seungmin out as one of his stalkers, because he wasn’t smart enough to poison the bouquet.

“I missed you while you were gone. That nasty anti hurt you. The only good thing that came of it was that you weren’t kissing Eunwoo-hyung. Then I got to kiss him, and it was like an indirect kiss, hm?” Seungmin smoothed a hand over Myungjun’s hair again.

Myungjun blinked at him, confused. “But — at the theater. The explosion. You were on stage with us. I heard that voice in the crowd.”

“I didn’t set off that explosion. That was the nasty anti,” Seungmin said. He wrapped his arms around Myungjun and held him close. “I’m here now. I’ll protect you.”

Myunjgun’s head spun. “You...you _like_ me? All this time?”

“Since your debut,” Seungmin crooned, still petting Myungjun’s hair.

Bile rose in his throat.

“We work together,” Myungjun said. “If you like me, why didn’t you just ask me out?” Like a normal person.

“I couldn’t get close to you. You were part of the main cast, and older, and the others protected you, and Eunwoo-hyung liked you, and how could I compete with Cha Eunwoo?”

“But Eunwoo doesn’t like me like that,” Myungjun said.

What the hell? Kangjoon had betrayed him. Minhyuk had promised him he’d be safe, and Kangjoon had given him to Seungmin.

“Yes he does. He came to visit you while you were healing, didn’t he? No one else was allowed to. He begged and pleaded with your manager, and so did I, but he was the only one who got special permission, because he’s Cha Eunwoo, and because he loves you the most. But I love you more, and now you’re mine,” Seungmin said.

Myungjun’s heart pounded. He had to get away. He had to get help. He reached into his pocket. He still had his phone. He could call Minhyuk. Right?

Only Seungmin grabbed his wrist and said, “No. We’re going away. Far away, where no one will ever find us, and we can live happily ever find us. That anti found your bodyguards, but he’ll never find me, because I’m smarter than them all.”

Seungmin reached into Myunjgun’s pocket, grabbed the cellphone, and threw it on the ground.

It cracked.

Myungjun cried out. “No!”

“Yes,” Seungmin crooned, covering Myungjun’s mouth with one hand. “Just you and me, happily ever after.”

 _No._ Myungjun wasn’t weak. People assumed he was weak because he was slender. But Minhyuk had said he was strong. He was going to be strong. He bit Seungmin’s hand.

Seungmin swore and backhanded him.

Myungjun’s ears rang again, and his vision danced with spots.

“Dammit! Don’t be like this. Once we’re far away and safe and you’re no longer stressed, you’ll understand. Come on.” And Seungmin began dragging Myungjun toward a car.

No. Myungjun couldn’t let Seungmin take him away.

He started to kick and struggle and shout, keeping his cries high-pitched and feminine. People would be more likely to respond to a woman.

“Shut up! Stop it!” Seungmin cried, trying to muffle him, buffeting him about the head.

Myungjun did his best to stay conscious, biting at Seungmin’s hands.

But then Seungmin locked his arms around Myungjun’s throat and started to squeeze.

“Let him go,” Minhyuk said. He stood at the mouth of the alley with a gun.

“Or what?” Seungmin asked. “You’ll shoot me? You risk shooting him.”

“He’d rather die than go with you,” Minhyuk snapped.

“How do you know that?” Seungmin demanded.

“Because,” Minhyuk said, “the person he loves is _me.”_

Rage flared in Seungmin’s eyes. “That’s a lie!”

Minhyuk reached up with one hand, tugged aside his collar. “It’s the truth. See these bruises? They’re from Myungjun-hyung’s mouth. We made love earlier today, in a love motel while we were waiting for Kangjoon-ssi to come pick us up. I know what his mouth feels like on my skin, what his body feels like on mine, how to make him shout my name.” 

Seungmin tightened his grip on Myungjun. “No! You wouldn’t dare! You only have love for your fans!”

“And me,” Minhyuk said, smirking.

Seungmin roared and squeezed Myungjun’s throat.

The sound of a live gunshot was deafening compared to on television.

Hot liquid sprayed Myungjun’s face.

And then he hit the ground.

Moments later, Minhyuk stood over him, hauled him to his feet.

“Hyung! Are you all right?”

“W—what happened?” Myungjun twisted around to look at Seungmin, but Minhyuk grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t look.”

“Did you —?”

“I told you, I’m good at killing people.” Minhyuk wrapped his arm around Myungjun’s shoulders and guided him out of the alley.

Myungjun stumbled along beside him, dazed. “Kangjoon-ssi. He sold me out. He betrayed me. You said I’d be safe! You —”

“I sensed something was wrong. I followed.”

“What do we do now?”

“I know I can trust Bin-hyung. We’ll move to a secondary location and I’ll contact Bin-hyung and only Bin-hyung and wait for instructions.”

Myungjun’s mind spun. “But what about Kangjoon-ssi? He got away! What if he tells Bin-ssi that you were the one who betrayed me, that because you were compromised —”

Another gunshot rang out.

Minhyuk staggered.

Myungjun caught him. “What —?”

Red blossomed across the front of Minhyuk’s t-shirt. Minhyuk grabbed Myungjun and threw him down, crawled on top of him.

“Stay down,” Minhyuk said.

Two more shots rang out.

On top of Myungjun, Minhyuk shuddered, groaned.

Hot sticky wetness spread between them.

Blood.

Fear clawed its way up Myungjun’s throat. 

_No._

Minhyuk whispered, “Play dead.”

Myungjun closed his eyes and let his head flop to one side, tried to make his breath as shallow and silent as possible.

He heard footsteps approach.

Two more gunshots rang out right above him, and he _felt_ Minhyuk’s body jerk twice more, felt more blood pool between them.

He wanted to scream, but his voice was locked up in utter terror.

“Finally got you, you unspeakable abomination,” a man muttered.

His voice was unfamiliar but heavy with hatred.

 _Why? Why me?_ Myungjun wanted to ask. _And why Minhyuk?_

“You mean we finally got you,” Bin said, and there was a thump, and a curse.

“Read him his rights,” Detective Seo said, and Detective Eun began the spiel, just like on television, over the other man shouting and cursing.

“Yah, Rocky, what if he’d shot you in the head?”

Myungjun opened his eyes.

Minhyuk pushed himself up. He was covered in blood. But there were no holes in the front of his shirt. He peeled off his jacket with a grimace, then his t-shirt. Underneath, he was wearing a kevlar vest.

Myungjun stared at him, then down at himself. He was covered in blood.

Sanha offered him a hand. “Myungjun-ssi, are you all right?”

“What the hell just happened?” Myungjun climbed to his feet. His head was spinning and his legs were shaky. He was still at the mouth of the alley. 

Police cars with flashing lights and wailing sirens were arriving, and uniformed officers scrambled to tape off the area.

“We finally caught your stalkers,” Bin said. “Well, we caught the one. The other is dead. We’re sorry it had to be this way.”

Myungjun peered down the alley and saw a couple of detectives covering Seungmin’s body with a white sheet.

“You _said_ Seungmin couldn’t have been the one who poisoned me with the flowers!” Myungjun cried.

“That was the anti stalker,” Bin said quietly. “Seungmin was in love with you. Or at least he thought he was. What he felt for you was a lot more twisted than real love.”

“Myungjun-ssi,” Kangjoon said, and Myungjun cried out and recoiled. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you like that. Seungmin had to believe I was on his side.”

Myungjun turned to Minhyuk. “You _knew?_ You were part of this all along?”

“I had to get weapons and kevlar from the others,” Minhyuk said. “I was worried you’d think I was taking too long to get food. That was why we had so little time to eat. We had a very narrow window to pull all of this off.”

Bin handed Minhyuk a clean shirt, which he pulled on, but not before Myungjun saw that his torso was indeed bruised, and not just from what they’d done in the motel earlier.

Myungjun stared at him. “Was _everything_ part of the plan? You and me in the motel. You used it to make Seungmin mad. You _knew_ it would make him mad.”

Kangjoon reached out and cuffed Minhyuk upside the head. “You’re still in so much trouble.”

“Hyung! I just got shot point-blank range in the back like four times. It hurts even through kevlar,” Minhyuk protested.

Bin cuffed him upside the head. “He could’ve shot you in the head!”

“If you care about my head so much, why do you keep hitting it?” Minhyuk ducked away from an attempted swat from Sanha.

Myungjun rounded on Minhyuk. “What if he’d tried to shoot you in the head?”

“At that range he wouldn’t have missed. He was standing right over me,” Minhyuk said.

Myungjun stared at him. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you people?”

“I told you,” Minhyuk said quietly. “I’m good at two things. You saw them today.”

“Sorry, Myungjun-ssi,” Bin said. “Right after action like this, we’re all a little wired on adrenaline. We’ll see you back in Seoul for the debriefing. We’ll make sure you’re moved back in to your regular dorm as soon as possible. In the meantime —”

“Hyung! It’s finally over.” Jinwoo crashed into Myungjun and caught him in a fierce hug that was probably unprofessional, but Myungjun didn’t care, clung onto him, dazed and hurt and relieved and too many other emotions to name. “You’re safe now. You can move home. Everything will be all right.”

“Everything will be all right,” Myungjun echoed dazedly.

Jinwoo said to Bin, “Thank you.”

“Just doing our jobs,” Bin said.

“Take him home,” Sanha said. “We’ll see you in Seoul.”

Jinwoo nodded and guided Myungjun back to his car. He helped Myungjun into the passenger seat and buckled him in.

Myungjun heard Bin say to Minhyuk, “Once we’re done cleaning up the scene, we should stop by your mom’s house for dinner.” 

“She makes the best kimbap,” Sanha said, and Minhyuk nodded.

Myungjun stared at him, remembering Seungmin’s arms around his throat, the gunshot, the spray of hot blood across his face.

He remembered way the others had said, _He could have shot you in the head._

 _I’m good at two things,_ Minhyuk had said. _You saw them today._

Jinwoo started the engine and pulled away from the curb, and the flashing lights faded in the rearview mirror. Jinwoo was talking about how relieved the others would be, and how glad they’d be to have Myungjun back home with them, but Myungjun only listened with half an ear.

Everything was over now.

Everything.

* * *

It had only been a week since everything had gone down — the explosion, Seungmin’s death, the other stalker being caught. The stage and theater had been repaired, and the production had resumed. 

“The show must go on, after all,” the director had said to Myungjun, when they’d met to discuss whether he should continue; actors were, after all, notoriously superstitious.

But everyone agreed: Myungjun should continue his role as Jamie till the end of the production’s run. He’d sacrificed so much to play the role, and he’d overcome a lot, just like Jamie, and he deserved to see this through.

Myungjun had been given barely a day to recover back at his real dorm before he’d been marched down to the company for his official debriefing with the security team — minus Rocky.

It was a small mercy that only Jinwoo was present, not any of upper management and not any of Myungjun’s other teammates as they discussed all that had happened. Seungmin was dead. The news was already out: both of Myungjun’s stalkers had been caught. One was a middle-aged man with a grudge; his teenage son had come out as gay at school and been bullied and committed suicide, and he blamed Myungjun and all openly gay celebrities, even if Myungjun wasn’t actually openly gay. The other stalker, Seungmin, was being painted in the media as an insane stalker; his family was horribly embarrassed and ashamed and had posthumously disowned him. The rest of the musical’s production team and cast were in shock, but they were also scrambling to find a replacement for him.

No charges were being brought against Rocky for Seungmin’s death, as he’d been clearly acting in Myungjun’s defense.

“Police are being lenient on you and Rocky about stealing cars, so be very penitent,” Bin said.

Myungjun nodded meekly. 

Jinwoo said, “You _kissed_ Rocky?”

Myungjun said, “He kissed me back.”

Jinwoo buried his face in his hands. “I can keep this from upper management. But — hyung. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Obviously I wasn’t,” Myungjun said. “I was — I was _feeling.”_

“Rocky’s being dealt with on our end,” Kangjoon said. “We deeply apologize.”

Jinwoo blinked and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I never thought — _Rocky?_ In all the years I’ve known him, he was the _last_ person who I thought would…” He shook his head.

“You’re not the only one,” Bin said stiffly. “Like I said, he’s being dealt with.”

“What now?” Myungjun asked. “Stalkers caught, life back to normal?”

“We’ll continue to work with the police while they take the case to prosecution,” Sanha said. “If the anti stalker doesn’t take a plea deal, you might have to testify, but we have a lot of evidence against him, and he’d be a fool to take the case to trial, but he’s not very rational, so.”

Myungjun nodded. “So back to normal, then.”

“That was the whole goal,” Jinwoo said. “We wanted the stalkers gone so you could live your life in peace.”

“Peace,” Myungjun echoed. Except every time he closed his eyes, he felt Seungmin’s hands on him, heard a gunshot, felt the spatter of blood and brains on his face.

“Thank you for all that you did,” Jinwoo said.

“Any time, hyung.” Bin smiled, and for a moment, he looked like the sweet boy who’d danced with Park Minhyuk in high school.

Did that sweet boy even exist anymore?

Jinwoo rose and bowed, and he nodded to Myungjun. “Come on. Let’s get you to the theater.”

And so to the theater Myungjun went, to get back into the swing of things.

But he felt hollow.

Jamie’s prom dress and shoes were returned to the theater with a sweet note from Minhyuk’s mother, but there was no word from Minhyuk. Myungjun didn’t know how to get in touch with him, and he didn’t dare ask Jinwoo.

Back at the dorm with the others, it was as if he’d never left. His room was the same, and his bed was the same, and others joked and laughed with him the same way. He could order food from the same places, and eat Hyungseok’s mother’s country cooking without a care, and he didn’t have to worry about Sanha’s cameras everywhere, or Bin and Kangjoon flanking him every step he took.

He should have been relieved.

But he felt hollow.

When he woke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he was disoriented, because the dorm was too dark without the constant glow of Sanha’s laptops and tablets. 

When he was out and a crowd, he felt like people were watching him constantly, and when his nerves became too much, he wanted to step back into the comfort of Rocky’s hand in the small of his back — but he was alone.

And the dorm was so _noisy_ with his teammates there. At first he’d hated how Bin and Sanha and Rocky and later Kangjoon always drifted _around_ him without really interacting with him, but now Jinook and Hyeokjin and Hyungseok and Hoetaek felt like they were constantly in his space and pestering him for his attention. Where Myungjun had felt alone, now he felt overwhelmed.

The first time Myungjun sat down on the couch to draw — the others had sensed that he was getting overwhelmed and agreed to settle down to watch a movie and let him do his own thing — and he’d flipped open his sketchbook and come across an old drawing of Rocky, he’d felt gutted.

Because it had been a week since he’d seen Rocky or heard his voice or even sensed him in the space around him, and Myungjun felt hollow.

But at night his ears rang with the ghost of the gunshot that ended Seungmin’s life, and he felt Minhyuk on top of him whispering _play dead,_ and he remembered the sticky warmth of fake blood on his skin and clothes.

He remembered Minhyuk with those shadows in his eyes. _I’m good at two things._

On nights when Myungjun couldn’t sleep, he lay in bed and watched old videos of Park Minhyuk dancing and singing.

“No,” he whispered. “You’re good at a lot of things.”

Minhyuk had said he would find Myungjun again, once the job was over.

Was it not over yet?

Or had Minhyuk only meant that before everything with Seungmin went down? He’d probably never intended for Myungjun to see just how far he’d go in the line of duty.

 _I’m good at two things,_ Minhyuk had said. _You saw them today._

Even though Minhyuk and Myungjun had come together in that love motel, there was still a line between them, and maybe Minhyuk thought Seungmin’s blood had made it irrevocable.

 _When you take a human life, it changes you,_ Minhyuk had said. _I’m not that boy anymore, that boy who sang and danced easily, carefree. I can never be that boy again. Maybe a boy like that could have one day grown into a man who deserved someone like you. But I’m not that boy anymore._

Myungjun stared at a frozen image of young Park Minhyuk bowing to the judges of a high school dance competition and said, “The man you are does deserve me.”

* * *

Myungjun took his final bows, and the curtain fell, though the audience’s applause and cheers were still ringing. As soon as the curtain hit the stage, Myungjun headed backstage and made a beeline for his dressing room. As much as he loved being Jamie, Jamie’s heels were killer (and not just in the fun way), and Myungjun couldn’t wait to get out of them. He wanted to go home and soak in a hot bath to ease the ache in his feet and calves.

“Hyung, you want to come out with us for dinner and drinks?” Eunwoo asked, poking his head into Myungjun’s dressing room.

“What I really want is a leg message, but I think I’m going to settle for a hot bath and an episode or two of a drama before bed,” Myungjun said. “Thanks for the invite, though.”

Eunwoo smiled and nodded; there were shadows in his eyes, and Myungjun hated it. Eunwoo blamed himself for not seeing Seungmin for who he really was, but no one had seen it, not really, not till it was almost too late.

And now Seungmin was dead, and the new understudy, Serim, was afraid of everyone and everything and barely talked to anyone.

“Okay. Maybe next time?” Eunwoo’s expression was hopeful, like an eager puppy, so Myungjun said,

“Next time.” 

After all, the production was winding down, and this cast was like his family, and soon he’d never see most of them ever again.

Eunwoo smiled one of his crinkle-eyed smiles, the one his fans adored, and went to duck away, but an assistant stage manager poked her head into the room. She looked a little nervous.

“Myungjun-ssi, there’s someone here to see you.”

Myungjun, halfway out of his makeup and Jamie costume, frowned. “Oh?”

Reporters weren’t allowed backstage, not without Jinwoo or some other company staff present. Family and his teammates were allowed backstage. Technically friends were allowed backstage, but his friends always gave him a heads up, and no one had contacted him.

Myungjun reached for his phone, but he hadn’t missed any calls or texts.

And then Rocky appeared in the doorway.

No, not Rocky.

Minhyuk. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt with a soft-looking cardigan, and he was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Congratulations,” he said softly. “You performed beautifully tonight.”

Eunwoo sucked in a breath. No one outside of Jinwoo, Bin’s security team, and the police knew which of Myungjun’s bodyguards had pulled the trigger on Seungmin. “Rocky-ssi.”

“Sunbae.” Minhyuk inclined his head politely. “It’s all right. I’m not here as one of Myungjun-ssi’s security team tonight. And he knows my real name now.”

“Park Minhyuk-ssi,” Eunwoo said. “You came to see the show?”

“I never had a chance to really enjoy it while I was on duty,” Minhyuk said. “I’ve always loved musicals.”

“I remember from school,” Eunwoo said quietly. Then he said, “I never thought you’d become...this.”

“I never thought you’d become this either,” Minhyuk said.

Eunwoo raised his eyebrows. “What, an actor?”

“You focused on songwriting and composition. Do you still play the piano? You played so beautifully then,” Minhyuk said. “But also your favorite subjects were social science and math, and you were on the debate team. We all thought you might be a lawyer or a prosecutor or a judge.”

Eunwoo nodded tightly. He swallowed hard. “Did Seungmin have to die? Couldn’t one of you have shot him in the leg?”

Myungjun flinched. “Eunwoo-ya —”

Minhyuk’s gaze turned flinty. “You’re showing your true actor colors there, and you haven’t done your service yet, and also you weren’t there, so I’ll forgive the ignorance of your question. Hitting someone in the leg is a much more difficult shot than television would have you believe, and also a much deadlier shot, since you can bleed out very quickly. Also, had Seungmin been shot in the leg, he’d still have been able to strangle Myungjun-hyung. Even if Myungjun-hyung hadn’t died, he could have suffered permanent harm. Typically to stop someone, you shoot the best target, which is center mass, or the torso, because it’s the target you’re most likely to hit without risking missing and risking hitting bystanders. However, shooting Seungmin in center mass risked the bullet going through him and hitting Myungjun-hyung as well. A head-shot was the only choice. I had to make a split-second decision about how to save Myungjun-hyung under very difficult circumstances.”

Eunwoo’s eyes went wide. “It was _you…?”_

“I weighed Myungjun-hyung’s life against Seungmin-ssi’s and made a decision,” Minhyuk said. “One I have to live with. One Seungmin’s parents have to live with. One Myungjun has to live with.”

He met Eunwoo’s gaze and held it.

“Are you glad Myungjun is alive?” Minhyuk asked. “Think long and hard about how much it cost.”

Eunwoo stared at Minhyuk. Then he bowed to Myungjun and said, “Next time, hyung,” edged out of the room without touching Minhyuk.

Myungjun said, “Did you have to scare him like that?”

Minhyuk shrugged. “He’ll learn when he does his service anyway.”

“Most men’s service isn’t like yours, I’m pretty sure,” Myungjun said. He swallowed hard. Was that why he hadn’t heard from Minhyuk all this time? Had Minhyuk been carrying all that burden? Myungjun pasted on a smile. “Please, come in.”

Minhyuk stepped into the dressing room and closed the door. He approached cautiously and bowed, offered the flowers. They were lovely and bright, just the kind Myungjun liked, but of course they would be, because Minhyuk knew so much about Myungjun.

“Thank you,” Myungjun said, accepting them. He went to inhale their scent, hesitated.

Minhyuk’s gaze darkened. “I’m sorry you can’t enjoy flowers like you used to. It’s just that flowers are the traditional gift for a leading actor, so —”

“They’re beautiful. I’ll put them in water as soon as I get back to the dorm.” Myungjun set the flowers aside, then resumed cleaning off his makeup. “So, are you between bodyguard jobs, then? Just came to take in a show before you fling yourself between bullets and people once more?”

“Ah, no,” Minhyuk said. “I’m not a bodyguard anymore. I behaved very unprofessionally on my last job and proved myself unfit for duty, so. I’m between jobs in general. I’ll probably just teach taekwondo full time, like I always tell my mother I do.”

Myungjun paused and turned to look at him. “You...what?”

Minhyuk shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you that you performed really well. I’m glad to see you back on stage. You deserve to see this run to the end.” He smiled faintly.

Something about this entire exchange felt like a goodbye.

No.

Myungjun finished cleaning off his makeup, and he hurriedly changed into his regular clothes. “Thank you. It’s thanks to you that I’m back on this stage.” He stood in front of Minhyuk. “Listen. About what happened with Seungmin. I know you didn’t really have a choice, that you made the best choice to protect me. You had no way of predicting how he’d react once he got his hands on me. I don’t blame you. I don’t hate you. I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Minhyuk closed his eyes and looked pained. “Please don’t ever thank me for taking a human life.”

Myungjun bit his lip. Then he said, “I’m not thanking you for that. I’m thanking you for throwing yourself in front of bullets even though you could have died. And — and for comforting me in the motel when I was crying. And for coming back to see me now that your bodyguard job is over. You said you would, and you did, and that means a lot to me, because you could’ve just vanished forever.” He took a deep breath and added, “I missed you.”

Minhyuk opened his eyes. “You shouldn’t have. I’m —”

“Don’t say it,” Myungjun said. “Don’t call yourself a monster or ruined or say you don’t deserve me. _I_ get to decide who deserves me. And I think the person who deserves me is you. You said you were only good at two things. You’re actually good at a lot more things, like singing and dancing and taekwondo. How about we find out what other things you’re good at together?”

Minhyuk looked at him. “Really?”

Myungjun nodded. “Really.” He stepped closer, put his hands on Minhyuk’s waist, and leaned in for a kiss.

Minhyuk’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in as well.

When Myungjun pulled back, he murmured, “When we first met, I kind of thought you were a robot.”

“Oh?” Minhyuk asked.

“Yeah,” Myungjun admitted. “Because you seemed so flat and emotionless.”

Minhyuk leaned in and kissed Myungjun again, slow and deep and thorough. “How was that for flat and emotionless?”

Myungjun hummed thoughtfully. “You might have to kiss me again. For science.”

Minhyuk obliged him, winding his arms around Myungjun’s neck and reeling him in close so they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to thigh.

Myungjun’s heart was racing when they paused for air.

He cleared his throat. “Even if you aren’t a robot, I do have to ask: how do I turn you on?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Stripped](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEkLU2AiJCs) by Shiny Toy Guns
> 
> "Let me see you  
> Stripped down to the bone  
> (Let me hear you speaking  
> Just for me)  
> Let me see you  
> Stripped down to the bone  
> (Let me hear you crying  
> Just for me)"
> 
> Also I know it's illegal for bodyguards in SK to carry guns.
> 
> It's fiction. Let's live with it.


End file.
